by Dave Warner
‘The second victim, Carmen Cavanagh, was killed identical to the first: knocked out, raped, throat cut in that order. Her body was found in her apartment garage Upper East Side. That was three weeks ago. No wits, no prints, no DNA. Now this.’
The techs had begun processing the scene but had stepped aside for her to give a second opinion on time of death. The body of the female victim had been found folded into a confessional whose door was now propped open. One look said it was the same killer.
Georgette and Lipinski shared a short greeting and then she squatted down to get to work, the smell of blood familiar and repulsive. While most of the girl’s blood had pooled in the confessional doorway, there was still plenty around the body. Georgette thought the dead girl striking, verging on beautiful. She was black with high cheekbones and a very slender neck with a deep, dark, slash. Her tights and underwear were bunched around her ankles.
Georgette remembered the new photographer from the first murder.
‘Sorry, Kelvin, can we dim these for now?’
The heat from the intense lights from the camera and from those positioned around the body could make judging time of death difficult but Georgette knew how to allow for that. The lights dimmed, Georgette gave it a moment, then carefully felt the body. After checking her thermometer, she consulted the charts stored on her phone that gave insight into idiosyncrasies of buildings in the area, a mountain of data she had begun accumulating in her undergrad days. She carefully lowered the girl’s arm, noting a matching wound to that on Gina Scaroldi’s thigh.
‘Best guess, six forty-nine.’
Greta Lipinski said, ‘Tom put it between six forty-five and seven ten.’
Good. It was rare Georgette had a disagreement with the medical examiner, and never so far with Tom, but occasionally there were elements they hadn’t quite considered – the insulation of various clothes for example. Lipinski, who had obviously been briefed by the first responders, continued for Benson’s benefit.
‘She was discovered just before seven-thirty. One of the helpers came in to make sure all was in order before lock-up. Midtown South recognized the similarity to our cases right away and called us in.’
Georgette guessed that the Midtown South Homicide detectives had allowed Benson to take over the case. This being the third homicide though, it was likely help would be drafted from all the affected homicide command posts.
‘Please tell me there’s a security camera,’ Benson said.
‘There is but it hasn’t worked for three months.’
‘No joy from the Roosevelt Island camera then?’ guessed Georgette.
‘A shape, nothing more. May not have even been the killer. We cross-checked all the social media contacts of both victims and got squat.’
Benson asked Kelvin if he’d downloaded his photo files from the scene. The young man, with a subtle correction, confirmed he had ‘uploaded’ everything already. Georgette could tell Benson was ready to head back to the central command.
Georgette said, ‘Might Percy take a look?’
‘Sure.’
Georgette signalled for Holmes to join them. Clad in his crime suit, Holmes made his way down the aisle. Holmes had approved heartily when Georgette had explained the crime suit was to avoid contamination of evidence.
‘We don’t have long,’ said Benson, ‘the techs are still going and will want to get back to her.’
Holmes squatted down and examined the girl without touching her. He also sniffed all around her like a bloodhound.
Benson said, ‘Her name is Lucy Bassey. Looks the same as the others, except they were white. Killer is careful, no DNA on the previous victims.’
Georgette saw Holmes was mystified by the arcane words. ‘DN …’
‘A,’ she added.
‘Right,’ he said, meeting her gaze. The lights had not yet been turned back up so Georgette shone her flashlight for him.
She asked if Holmes noticed anything unusual.
‘She’s extremely tall,’ he muttered and Georgette realized it was probably foolish to expect Holmes to have some blinding insight. ‘And there is a faint odor of … turpentine.’
‘Her ID says she works at the museum,’ said Benson.
‘That wound pattern on her arm is the same as the others had,’ said Georgette.
‘May I?’ asked Holmes, gesturing he wanted to touch the body. Benson nodded.
On the way over, Georgette had explained about the flesh taken from the victims. Now Holmes examined the wound.
‘Would anybody have a magnifying glass on them?’
‘Man after my own heart,’ said Greta Lipinski, handing one over. ‘I don’t care what they say about using a camera. I love this little sucker.’
Holmes scrutinized the wound. He sighed, handed the glass back with a thank you and stood.
‘You think that mark is a ship?’ Georgette was unable to contain herself.
‘I’m not sure what it is. I am afraid I need more information.’
Benson had been accommodating. Georgette had expected him to refuse her suggestion Holmes view the crime scene photos of the first two murders, but though he looked sorely tempted to deny her, he did not. In the car on the way to the command centre, Georgette quietly alerted Holmes to the fact that these days, homicides were pictorially documented with both stills and video but he’d already deduced as much, watching Kelvin work.
‘What’s DNA?’ he whispered.
She thought about how best to explain. ‘The cell matter that is unique to each of us. Think of it as a genetic fingerprint. It can be passed from the killer to the victim by blood, skin, saliva.’
Holmes’ face took on a kind of rapture. ‘For years I yearned for such a weapon of detection.’
‘It only helps if the DNA is on file or we can match it to a suspect. But thanks to a whole lot of TV shows and crime novels, somebody who plans to kill in advance knows to wear a suit just like we did and leave no trace.’
Holmes stroked his chin with his long fingers. ‘There must have been much blood and yet nobody seems to have witnessed anybody leaving these scenes covered in blood. Yes, he plans.’ He pressed his face to the window. Outside, Manhattan blurred like a flying bird photographed by a cheap camera.
Because of the expanding geography of the crimes and the number of victims, there was a likelihood that the command post would be moved. For now though, it was still in the squad room of the 112 in Queens. Leaving the arduous doorknocking and canvassing of potential witnesses with Midtown South detectives and patrol officers, Lipinski and Benson were gathering all background information on Lucy Bassey, preparing to head out to interview family and colleagues of the dead woman, pretty much ignoring Georgette and Holmes. Having mastered the idea of a touchscreen, Holmes was zooming in and out deftly as he minutely examined the photos of the three crime scenes.
‘My Lord, Watson, if I’d have had these aids in my day of investigation, there’d not have been a criminal free in the whole of Queen Victoria’s empire.’
He was looking at photos of Carmen Cavanagh’s car in its garage when he suddenly let out a small cry and furiously flicked back through the gallery of crime photos.
The exclamation he’d made had drawn the interest of Benson and he came to peer at the screen.
‘What is this?’ Holmes was pointing at a close-up of the sneakers on the feet of the first victim, Gina.
‘You don’t have Puma in England?’ Benson was surprised.
‘A brand logo,’ whispered Georgette to Holmes.
‘The manufacturer’s stamp?’ said Holmes. His face was impassive but Georgette sensed his mind churning.
Georgette nodded, aware that Benson was growing more suspicious by the minute. Holmes flicked back to the garage shot and pointed at the car’s bonnet.
‘And this?’
‘A Jaguar,’ said Georgette.
‘I know you got those in England.’
She picked up an edge in the detective’s tone, like Hol
mes was acting the fool. She tried to smooth things.
‘It’s Percy’s process.’ Georgette had mixed with enough detectives to know that to some degree they all followed some obscure, largely personal ‘process’. The word covered a multitude of indulgences and failings and could provide Holmes a smokescreen.
Holmes might as well have been in a silent chamber. He paid them no attention at all but rather began smiling, flexing his feet, lifting himself up as he balanced on his toes before dropping down on his heels and repeating the ritual.
‘What did you observe about our third girl?’ he asked Georgette.
‘That she’d died around six forty-nine.’
‘But what was the most obvious thing?’
Georgette had no idea what he was driving at. He turned his gaze.
‘Benson?’
‘That she was dead.’
The detective’s answers were growing more terse. She would have to tell Holmes not to use people’s surnames.
‘Was that the most obvious thing? She might have been sleeping if we didn’t already know.’ Holmes turned back to her now. ‘At the time you asked me if I’d noticed anything, do you recall?’
‘You said that she was tall.’
‘Not just tall, very tall. A giraffe.’
Benson’s mouth opened. He was about to say something but Holmes stole the words away.
‘A puma, a jaguar and a giraffe. I know what this is.’
He spun the screen to a close-up of the killer’s mark.
‘We think it’s a ship,’ Georgette said.
‘Almost.’ Holmes took an actor’s beat before delivering. ‘It’s an ark.’
11
Holmes patiently clicked through all the photos Benson’s team had assembled on the case. Not just the actual crime scenes but the homes of Gina Scaroldi and Carmen Cavanagh. Gina Scaroldi, a small studio apartment, neat, bare walls bar for a couple of photos, inexpensive furniture, typical of a student. Carmen Cavanagh: opulent investment-banker apartment, spacious, modern art, widescreen.
Lipinski was talking, ‘We’ve checked everything we could think of – pest exterminators, medical records, you name it. We couldn’t find any link between our first two vics, no Facebook pals, no Instagram followers, nothing.’
Holmes looked up from his labor and Georgette mouthed a silent ‘Later.’
Holmes returned his gaze to the photos. ‘He hunts them but only, I think, in his mind, to rescue them.’ Now he swung around, wriggling this way and that trying to make the office chair more comfortable.
Greta Lipinski turned a pen over as she pondered. ‘Rescue them from what?’
‘The end of the world, if I were to hazard a guess. Or a godless world, which might to him be the same thing.’
‘You a profiler?’ Benson wasn’t being a smartass. It was a genuine question.
Holmes, she saw, had no idea what Benson meant. ‘I think Percy is more a follow-the-evidence kind of guy. At least he was in the past.’ She hit that with special emphasis, hoping Holmes got her drift. ‘I don’t think he lays claims to knowing what is in a criminal’s mind.’
‘No, that is true,’ said Holmes. She sensed he would normally have waved his pipe around but without one was at a loss what to do with his hands. ‘Nonetheless, we can generally deduce, can we not, whether a criminal may be acting for financial gain, out of revenge, because of love, or in this case, what seems likely, because of a perverse line of logic and reasoning? Clearly there would appear to be no financial gain here. Love seems highly unlikely, and there’s no indication yet of revenge, although that may play some role in his selection, it’s too early to say.’
Benson said, ‘Well, that’s what we’ve figured all along, that we’re dealing with a sexual psycho. But are you saying he thinks he’s doing them a favor?’
‘It’s an interpretation. It may not be the right one. Dr Watson is correct, I am no expert on the human mind but prefer to follow the objective nature of physical evidence. Nonetheless one cannot help but conjecture on the significance of the ark.’
‘You think the killer is religious?’ asked Georgette.
‘I don’t think we can speculate on anything more than he is familiar with the story of Noah’s ark, although the slitting of the throat is a typical Old Testament manner of offering sacrifice.’
‘The techs tell us it is a curved blade, as traditionally was used for slaughter. You think he’s targeting these women in particular?’
Holmes stood, becoming more animated by the minute. ‘The first young woman may have been a type. He is Noah looking for a gazelle – or in this case a puma. Where will he find a puma? On a running track. He may not have selected this particular young woman until he was on the spot, able to see she matched his metaphor.’
‘Or,’ said Georgette, ‘he might have seen her in her Puma gear in a gym or at her apartment and marked her out. It would have been dark that time of morning.’
‘Absolutely true, Watson. The second young woman, Carmen Cavanagh …’ Holmes pointed at her headshot, ‘… he may have known more intimately. There is no public access to the murder location. One surmises he lives there himself, works there or was already with her when she arrived.’
Benson said, ‘We figured the same. Manhattan North canvassed the area. No witnesses, no CCTV, no murder weapon. We checked out every resident we could find in the apartment and got no flags.’
Greta Lipinski added, ‘But of course, somebody may have had a friend or guest staying they never told us about.’
Benson explained that vision of Carmen driving into the building’s garage that evening after work showed only her in the vehicle but he had a gut feeling the killer may have secreted himself inside Carmen’s car when it was parked elsewhere. Holmes’ head was bobbing up and down, showing he approved of this theory.
Lipinski said, ‘We’ve checked out the CCTV of the parking garage she used near Battery Park, all the vehicles that arrived within forty-five minutes of Carmen leaving work for the day and climbing into her car. Theory being …’
Holmes jumped in. ‘That the killer may have arrived in his own vehicle, parked, hidden in her vehicle and waited for his moment to strike.’
‘Exactly,’ said Benson. Georgette felt like she was watching a tennis match. Lipinski ran on.
‘Unfortunately there’s no vision of where Carmen’s vehicle was parked, only of her leaving alone. No red flags on the drivers of any of the vehicles that arrived at the garage that day, or the staff. However, we did have one vehicle, a car stolen from the Bronx two hours earlier. It drives in forty minutes before Carmen left work.’
Benson embellished. ‘We got footage of the driver,’ Benson said, ‘cap, glasses, gloves – could be male or female. No fingerprints. We’re running DNA tests just in case.’
Georgette got their theory, Holmes enunciated it.
‘You think he knew where she worked and parked. That the killer stole a vehicle to gain entry without identifying himself. Yes, that makes sense. And it would seem to indicate he had been in her apartment garage as well at some time, and knew he could strike unobserved. He may simply have got lucky with the relative isolation of the murder scene, although I fear otherwise. Miss Bassey, on the other hand, could easily have caught his eye on the night. She would be a head taller than most people, hard to miss. Or he could have noticed her some previous time, realized she used that church.’
Benson said, ‘But Noah’s not keeping them in captivity. He kills them and has sex with them, mutilates them and abandons them.’
‘“Noah”: we have our moniker.’ Lipinski nodded approvingly. While Georgette wasn’t overly fond of these handles, such shorthand was probably inevitable. Holmes was not to be distracted.
‘His saving them, I am afraid, is only metaphorical. What he is really interested in would appear to be a symbolic continuation of the species, or at the very least his own line, by having intercourse with these women. He then discards them. Perhaps he wants to h
ave children but cannot. Then again, it may simply be …’
‘An excuse to get his perverted fucking rocks off.’
Lipinski sat back and flipped the pen she’d been fiddling with.
‘Aptly put, Detective.’
Holmes stifled a yawn. I need to be careful, thought Georgette. Who knows what his stamina is like.
‘We should actually be heading off,’ said Georgette. ‘Percy has had a long journey.’
Benson said, ‘We’ll need to visit Lucy’s relatives. Midtown is checking CCTV images near the church, hopefully we get lucky. Thanks for your help, Percy.’
‘You realize,’ said a sombre Holmes, ‘that if I’m right about the ark, there will be more victims.’
The two detectives shared a look.
‘Yeah, we’d already considered that. Also, that these might not be the first. We’ll put out requests for any homicide-sexual assaults that might have any connection with an animal theme. You’ll be asleep long before us.’
As the cab brought them home, they sat once more in silence, the electric lights of the city bathing them in the same jaundiced river. She thought Holmes looked drawn, and was worried she had allowed him to do too much and said so.
‘No, not at all Watson. I admit my demeanor is perhaps not quite the top pickle but that’s because I have this idea in my head that I should know more about this case than I do.’
‘You’ve had a fairly lengthy sabbatical.’
‘Indeed. What is Facebook?’
She gave a cursory explanation of the nature of social media.
‘The twenty-first century’s equivalent of the first-class dining car,’ he mused and then, pursing his lips, recommenced brooding. When they were a dozen blocks from her apartment he suddenly sat up and pointed out the window.
‘There!’
He’d spied the tobacco store she had mentioned. She asked the driver to pull over. It was only a twenty-minute walk from here and the night though cool, was fine and clear. While she paid the fare, Holmes scampered inside.
She found him perusing a variety of pipes. The shop assistant, a man who if you met him on the street you might guess was a German butcher, asked what he was in the market for.
