The Living Room, Cambridge, MA
Once seated inside and comfortable, the Professor began.
“I assume that you have located the seventeenth victim and that Commissioner Rouillard has sent you here to solicit my assistance this evening in apprehending the murderer,” he said with his voice trailing off. The younger man stared in disbelief while Iaconi just sat back and rolled his eyes.
He continued. “Furthermore, this evening's murder has provided you with new information. Information so bizarre and of an alien nature that you have been forced to turn to me for guidance.”
It was for precisely this reason that Detective Iaconi particularly disliked working with the Professor. He knew that McCauley was a brilliant criminologist, a man whose reputation was known the world over, but he still didn’t like it when he acted like he was addressing his students. This was one of those times. As the Detective's subordinate gazed on in amazement, the Professor continued again.
“It really is quite simple,” he lectured to his new student, “all of Boston knew of the maniac's threat for this evening. Seeing you at my doorstep confirmed the act of murder immediately. Being that you did not ask for my assistance on the prior sixteen murders, I must conclude that this murder was somehow different, more puzzling, perhaps even more bizarre.”
“Seeing the bag you have clutched so closely to your side led me to believe that there is now some new evidence which cannot be easily interpreted. I believe, as you undoubtedly do, that there must be some meaning associated with it. So, please, open the bag and allow me to see it.”
The younger man looked at his superior and Iaconi nodded. He opened the bag and reached inside. As he extended his hand and passed the object to the Professor, he said almost apologetically, “We found it buried in her chest at the center of the carved cross-shaped wound.”
“It looks like some type of dinosaur,” volunteered Detective Iaconi, “The Commissioner thought that you should have a look at it.”
“Did he… indeed?” mumbled the Professor totally absorbed in his latest treasure.
Their eyes remained riveted on him as he held the small, metal object firmly beneath the light. It was only after several minutes that he lifted his eyes, sat back in his chair and released a slow, self-assured grin. Iaconi hated this part the most.
“This dinosaur, as you call it, is nothing more than a tourist's keepsake of the ancient Egyptian God Taurt.”
The two men sat expressionless as he continued.
“Taurt was one of those pre-Ramses deities which surfaced during the rein of Menes, approximately three thousand years before Christ. It had the head of a hippopotamus, the back and tail of a crocodile, and the claws of a lion. You are, of course, familiar with the legend?” he said looking over at the two men.
Iaconi took the lead and replied, “Professor, I think you know that neither one of us has a clue as to what you are talking about. The whole reason that the Commissioner asked us to come over here was that the department has nothing, except for that thing, to lead us to the murderer. And to be honest, no one at the station could even identify it.”
By now the Professor was feeling quite pleased with himself and continued. “Let me try to explain,” he said more kindly, “Menes, who many now associate with King Narmer, was the first ruler to unite Egypt. As king of Upper Egypt, he conquered the rival kingdom of Lower Egypt, in the Nile delta, thus forming the single kingdom of Egypt. He also moved the capital from Nekheb, near Thebes, to Memphis.”
The men were not impressed as he continued.
“The kingdom of Egypt, under the guidance of its Pharaoh, began to flourish. Soon, as with most civilizations which manage to provide life’s essentials, their thoughts turned from the physical to the metaphysical. It was during this period that the God Taurt first appeared.”
He paused while the two men simply sat staring at him waiting for useful information.
“Taurt was one of the many mystical Gods and a combination of three animals as you can see; part Hippo, part croc, and part lion. Taurt was a God of unchallenged virtue and deprivation. He was as pure as light. In fact, to put things into perspective, Taurt was a God that would make even the most devote Muslims today look like a bunch of sex starved liberals.” The two men smiled. “It would appear that our disturbed friend is quite a fan of his...”
With that, Professor McCauley rose from his chair and walked across the living room. He paused at a compact disc player and inserted a disc. He returned to his easy chair and stared upward, reflecting slowly as the soft sounds of the Piano Concerto No. 3 floated into the room.
After two minutes of the musically induced silence he said, “Tell the Commissioner that I would like to view the body in the morgue - at exactly nine o'clock - and that I will be in his office shortly thereafter.”
“Then you will take on the case?” asked Iaconi, looking at the Professor while rising to leave with his subordinate.
“Obviously.” said McCauley, walking them to the door.
As the two policemen exited the slate walkway and turned right onto Coolidge Hill Road, the echo of a Beethoven symphony drifted above in the summer sky and followed them down the street. While the new man looked about at the magnificent homes, Iaconi stared straight ahead and wondered what he would have told the Commissioner if the Professor had said no.
The Morgue, Boston, MA
At exactly nine o'clock, the wide; spring-loaded metal doors of the morgue flew open. There, in a dark beige cotton suit with no tie, stood Professor Stuart McCauley.
“Good Morning, Detective Iaconi.” said the Professor. “I trust that you have made the necessary arrangements for viewing the corpse.”
It occurred to Iaconi that this could be a very long morning if he did not mount some type of an offense.
“Yes, Professor,” he replied quickly. “We can see it right through there.” He motioned to an examination room just off to the left of both men. “We have a detailed autopsy report prepared and a few conclusions summarized by our departmental staff,” he said as they made their way into the adjoining room.
“I am keenly interested in the departmental summary,” said the Professor.
Iaconi knew that he wasn't.
As he raised the sheet that covered the corpse, the Professor heard himself gasp. He had seen many dead bodies over the years, but none as grotesquely and violently carved open as this one. Linda Roth's chest had been ripped in a jagged fashion from beneath her throat down through her navel. An adjoining gash had been scored across her breasts. The wound had been powerful enough to have torn apart major sections of her ribs and destroyed most of her internal organs. It appeared that the murderer had “hacked” at the wound after slicing the girl open.
“Deranged bastard.” murmured the Detective.
“Quite,” responded the Professor, now becoming immersed in the study of the remains of Ms. Roth.
“Roth, Linda,” began the detective, “age 26, Occupation: General Manager of Associated Food Services at Logan Airport. Those are the people that make the dinners that at are served on commercial airlines...”
“Please continue,” prodded McCauley trying to keep his impatience at bay.
“She was single and lived alone in a one bedroom efficiency on Prescott street. She was last seen alive by Officer Ryan who spoke with her just before she entered the Subway entrance. We figure that the murderer was waiting down below for her. The time of death confirms that it was very close to the time Ryan spoke with her.”
“Did Officer Ryan remain at the entrance of the subway?” interrupted McCauley.
“Yes,” said Iaconi.
“And he heard nothing?” asked the Professor.
“Not a peep.” replied Iaconi.
“Did he see anyone enter the Subway?” said the Professor.
“No one except the girl.” replied Iaconi.
“Continue.” said the Professor now hunched over the body.
“Well, we have determine
d that the assailant used some type of a large hunting knife, judging by the size and depth of the wounds. We have also concluded, by angle of entry that the assailant was most probably left handed, although we’re not sure of this” said the Detective softly.
“Aside from this,” he continued, “we have found little else to go on. No DNA, fibers, or video.”
“The others…” said McCauley, “were they all like this?” pointing to the girl's wounds.
“Yes,” replied the Detective. “They were almost identical… except for that thing that tawt thing.”
“Taurt!” snapped McCauley, now impatient and unable to control his revulsion at the mutilation before him.
Iaconi thought that times like this and compassionate outbursts like that made McCauley seem almost human.
The two men spent the remainder of the time in silence as McCauley studied the body. Trying to temper his last outburst, he said, “I would very much like to examine the girl's clothing before seeing the Commissioner.”
Iaconi nodded and led the Professor into an adjoining room where they looked at Linda's clothing and through the contents of her purse. McCauley seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time examining her blouse. Iaconi finally grew impatient and suggested that they leave. The Professor agreed.
As the two men walked out of the room, McCauley thought, “It will be an interesting conversation with the Commissioner after all.”
The Commissioner's Office
The Professor arrived at the Commissioner's office within the hour. Seated behind the large, ornate wooden desk was Commissioner Paul Rouillard.
“Good Morning Stuart,” said the Commissioner.
“Hello Commissioner,” replied the Professor.
The Commissioner's office was standard, late-thirties decor. Dark mahogany paneling surrounded the office and a smudged, dark velvet carpet covered the floor. The room smelled of crusty old cigars, an Italian variety of which the Commissioner was particularly enamored.
Paul Rouillard had ascended the ranks, from the typical “cop on the beat,” to the highest ranking policeman in the city of Boston. He was a good, solid, common-sensed cop. He liked McCauley and knew that he could use his help with the “Slasher” case.
In fact, during their last encounter, he had tried to put the Professor on a permanent retainer. “I take only those cases which interest me,” had been the Professor's reply. It now appeared that this latest case may be of interest to the Professor.
“Did you see the body?” asked the Commissioner.
“Yes... it's truly barbaric,” replied McCauley.
“That man must really be an animal to irrationally carve up his victims so brutally. We have developed some ideas on the case. Has Iaconi filled you in?”
“Yes,” said the Professor continuing, “However, I take as much exception to those theories as I do in your use of the term irrational. While I agree that the individual involved is an animal, the carving technique use in these crimes is certainly not that of someone whom we would consider... irrational.”
The Commissioner sat back puzzled and somewhat stunned. The thought of a sane, rational murderer had not even crossed his mind. As he settled back into his chair, he felt relieved. At first he was not certain that McCauley would work on the case, but by now, it was evident that not only would he work on it, but that he already had some thoughts, possibly theories, formulating in his mind.
The Professor continued. “I believe that our murderer uses an advanced technique in the murder of his victims. That is, I believe that the actual murder is committed with two knives.”
This caused the Commissioner to raise an eyebrow and Iaconi to spill some of his coffee.
“The first knife is a long, thin-bladed instrument, most probably something similar to a stiletto. As the murderer approaches his victim, it is thrust up into the chest, just below the ribs, and then turned and twisted into the heart.”
He rose from his chair and began to pace the room. “As you are no doubt aware, death caused in this fashion is extremely painful and frightfully quick. It is for this reason that your Officer Ryan heard nothing.”
“I, of course, confirmed this suspicion by examining the girl's clothing this morning. A small, tear appears at the correct location on her blouse. The angle of entry indicates that the murderer is right handed, not left handed as the Detective had suspected --”
At just that moment, they were interrupted as the door burst open and in charged a young woman, obviously very frazzled, with her head buried in a series of reports. As she spoke, her eyes never left the page. She had no knowledge of McCauley's presence as he had paced himself into one of the far corners of the room.
“Commissioner!” she said. “I have found something on the symbol. It is the likeness of the ancient Egyptian God Taurt --”
“EXCELLENT!” bellowed the Professor immediately recognizing his former student Jenny Smith.
Jenny stood in shock, turning to look at McCauley with her mouth partially open.
“I... I'm terribly sorry,” she said. Her face had turned as red as her crimson hair.
“Nonsense, please sit down and tell us of your findings... Miss Smith,” replied the Professor.
He was quick enough with his invitation to dispel any notion of reprimand that the Commissioner might have been thinking. The Commissioner, Iaconi, and Jenny had all been surprised when McCauley had called her by her name.
Jenny looked at the Commissioner and then sat down slowly in the one of the leather lined chairs of the Commissioner's Office. She began to describe her findings, quite aware of McCauley's gaze.
It seems that, upon graduation, she had taken a job as an Administrative Assistant for the Assistant Investigator's office. This is a staff department for the Commissioner. It was not the most glamorous job in the world but it was one of the best local offers to this year's class of graduating criminal justice majors.
McCauley was pleased as he watched the girl unveil the detailed secrets in the Taurt legend. “She is quite clever, this girl,” he thought, “and charming as well.”
After Jenny had left, the two men made arrangements for the Professor to have all of the records brought to his home on the morning of the following day. McCauley always insisted on complete disclosure in each case and the Commissioner never refused. It was a policy available to no other individual inside the department or out.
“One other thing Commissioner,” said McCauley as he walked towards the door. “I should like an assistant on this case.”
The Commissioner was genuinely shocked. The Professor had always preferred to work alone, always refusing any police assistance. It was a major source of departmental embarrassment.
“Certainly Stuart, I'll send Iaconi around with the papers in the morning. You can have him around the clock, starting tomorrow.”
“No need to trouble Detective Iaconi,” said the Professor walking briskly through the doorway, “Miss Smith... will do just fine.”
Chapter 3
Memorial Drive, Cambridge, MA
Jenny Smith was a nervous wreck. The Commissioner had grabbed her as she left work for home last evening. He explained that she was now assigned, full-time, to work on the “Subway Slasher” case under the direction of Professor Stuart McCauley.
She was to gather all information on the case and report to McCauley's residence in Cambridge at exactly 9:00 a.m. the next day. She had attempted to protest; citing her age and lack of experience, but the Commissioner stopped her and made it very clear. McCauley wanted her.
“Why me?” she had thought about it all night barely able to manage any sleep. “I don't know anything about solving a real murder” and “I'll make a complete fool of myself” were her two most frequent thoughts.
She had stayed up until 3:00 a. m., reading and rereading everything they had on the case. Once asleep, her mind and body tossed and turned so, that by morning, she looked a frightful mess.
Small circles appeared under her
bright green eyes and her cropped crimson hair jutted out from the sides of her head like a carrot. She had managed a shower this morning but there was just no time for her to fuss with her hair.
Jenny was an attractive girl. Some would refer to her as a “natural” beauty, some as plain, but all as unique. Her second-generation Irish heritage was proudly displayed across her face. Her eyes were bright glowing pools of green and her skin was soft and lightly freckled and white.
Her mother had called with encouragement last evening but wondered how she and the “Scotsman” would get along. Only time would tell, if she ever got there.
Jenny had left her home so she would make it to Cambridge with plenty of time to spare for her nine o'clock appointment, but things just were not working out for her this morning.
The Instrumental Rabbi (A Professor McCauley Mystery) Page 2
