by Chris Mooney
‘And there’s no question?’
‘None. Amy Hallcox is Kendra Sheppard.’
Coop crossed his arms over his chest, muscles rippling underneath the tight polo shirt, and focused on some private thought. ‘All this time, I thought she was dead. Now I find her two decades later tied down to her chair with her throat cut and…’ He shook his head as if trying to clear away the images. ‘It’s just weird, you know?’
Darby nodded and placed the fingerprint card back on the bench. ‘Why did Kendra change her name?’
‘I only knew her as Kendra,’ he said. ‘At one point in time, she was my girlfriend – my first serious girlfriend, I guess you could say.’
24
Darby leaned the small of her back against a lab bench and grabbed the edges.
‘She wasn’t a bad kid,’ Coop said, his eyes on Kendra Sheppard’s fingerprint card. ‘Not the brightest bulb, especially when it came to the realities of living in Charlestown – she had no common sense or street smarts.’
Coop lived in Charlestown and knew everyone – not a hard thing to do when you lived in a place that was just one square mile. He and his three older sisters had grown up in the small historic neighbourhood, the site of one of the first battles of the American Revolution – Bunker Hill – and later, during the 1980s, a hotbed of Irish mafia activity. Coop was thirteen when his father had been killed in an unsolved hit-and-run – the same age Darby had been when her father was murdered. That common wound had cemented their friendship during the early days at the crime lab.
‘Kendra had a good heart,’ he said, ‘and, Christ, she was wild. Loved to party, loved to booze it up and do blow. I was willing to overlook the coke because she was so goddamn attractive. But when I found out about her getting busted for prostitution, I couldn’t handle it and broke up with her. Not a good time in my life.’
‘Why did you think Kendra was dead?’
He blinked as if waking up from a dream. ‘What’s that?’
‘You said, “All this time, I thought she was dead.” ’
‘Her parents were murdered. They were shot to death while they were sleeping.’
That matched what Sean had told her.
‘When did this happen?’
‘April of ’83,’ Coop said. ‘I remember it because I had just gotten my licence. I know Kendra wasn’t home when they were murdered because the police were looking for her. I don’t know where she was. By that time we weren’t speaking. She didn’t go to the wake or funeral, she just… vanished, so I assumed the worst.’
‘She have any family in Charlestown?’
‘An aunt and uncle. Heather and Mark Base. They don’t live there any more. After the murder, they packed up and moved somewhere in the Midwest, I think.’
‘Sean told me his grandparents were killed.’
‘Sean?’
‘That’s John Hallcox’s real name.’ She hadn’t had a chance to talk with Coop about her interview with the boy – or this morning’s encounter with the brown van. After speaking to the Belham patrolmen who’d arrived on the scene, she’d driven back to Boston to work on Amy Hallcox’s body before the autopsy.
‘Sean told me his grandparents were murdered but said his mother wouldn’t tell him how they died – or where they lived,’ Darby said. ‘He had just started talking about what had happened inside the house when he shut off the tape recorder and told me his real name was Sean. That’s when the guy posing as a Fed came in with this shit about the mother being a fugitive and –’
‘Wait, the guy wasn’t an actual Fed?’
‘No, but he sure as hell looked and acted the part – had the ID, badge. Pine said he saw the Federal warrant and it looked legit. I didn’t find out he wasn’t the real deal until this morning.’
‘Jesus.’ Coop propped up his elbows on the bench and massaged his forehead with the heels of his palms.
‘I should have suspected something after he disappeared from the hospital,’ she said. ‘I thought he left to call an early-morning meeting for damage control – you know how the Feds are, protect their image at all costs.’
‘So Amy Hallcox wasn’t a fugitive.’
‘No. I checked NCIC, it was all bullshit. This guy was after the kid.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
Coop looked at her. ‘He must have known something. Why else would a twelve-year-old be carrying a gun?’
‘I agree. I don’t know who this guy is, but he’s probably working with the guys I saw following me this morning.’ She told him about the brown van and what Ted Castonguay had found in the pictures and the hospital videotape. ‘What’s going on with the fingerprints you lifted from the house?’
‘They’re running them through the database as we speak. As for evidence, we’ve just started processing it. What else did Sean tell you?’
‘He said the people who killed his grandparents were never caught.’
‘He’s right.’
‘Were there ever any suspects? Do you remember hearing anything?’
‘Nothing jumps to mind.’
Darby grabbed the clipboard and pen lying on the bench, turned to a fresh sheet of paper and wrote down the names for the aunt and uncle. ‘What were the names of Kendra’s parents?’
‘Sue and Donnie.’
‘Does Kendra have any friends living in the area?’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Did she tell you why she was hooking?’
‘No.’
‘She never tried?’
‘Sure she did. She tried a lot, as a matter of fact. She kept calling the house, came around a few times and tried cornering me at school. And I ignored her. I wasn’t interested in hearing why.’
‘I’m sure you heard some stories. Charlestown is small –’
‘I didn’t want to know why she did it. If someone started talking about it, I left the room. In fact, I made it a point of burying my head in the sand. I was seventeen when I found out my nineteen-year-old girlfriend was blowing guys around town in hotel rooms and cars.’ He glared at her, eyes bright with anger. ‘I didn’t want to know specifics. I was embarrassed, okay?’
Why is he acting so defensive?
‘Coop, I’ve just found out Amy Hallcox’s real name is Kendra Sheppard.’ She spoke the words calmly. ‘And you’re the person who told me. You told me her parents were murdered and that she disappeared. You told me you two dated, so I’m asking you questions, trying to get some background information on her.’
He was no longer looking at her. He was staring out of the window. The rain running down the glass cast shadows across the benches and walls.
A moment later he sighed and threw up his hands. ‘What else did Sean tell you?’
‘He said his mother was always afraid these people would find her. She seemed paranoid about it – she didn’t have a computer and wouldn’t hook up to the internet because she was afraid these people might track her down. I got the sense he believed the people who killed his grandparents are the same ones who killed his mother.’
‘But they didn’t kill him.’
‘I think they were interrupted.’ She explained her theory of a possible third party – the shooter who had entered through the sliding glass door and taken down the man in the suit.
‘Sean told me the guy wearing the Celtics gear was an older white male who may or may not have had a facelift,’ Darby said. ‘At the moment that’s all we know about the Celtics guy. We have no idea where he is or what might have happened to him. Do you have any ideas or theories?’
‘About the Celtics guy? Based on that description, he could be any Boston yahoo.’
‘I meant why these people were so interested in finding her.’
‘Haven’t the foggiest.’ Coop stood up. ‘Why did Sean Sheppard ask to speak to your father?’
‘His mother said if he was ever in trouble to talk to him. She told him to speak only to him.’
‘So you don’
t know the connection to your old man?’
‘Not yet. Was Kendra arrested for prostitution in Charlestown?’
‘As far as I know.’
‘I’ll go pull her record.’
‘I’m going to get to work on that Nicorette wrapper you found and the shells the Wonder Twins recovered from the woods.’
‘Okay. If you remember anything else, let me know.’
‘Will do.’
‘Thanks.’
Coop moved past her. She looked down at Kendra Sheppard’s fingerprint card.
Darby had known him for so long, had spent so much time with him both on and off the job, that they had become in many ways like an old married couple, in tune with each other’s moods and idiosyncrasies. She knew what was lurking behind Coop’s anger.
He’s afraid.
25
Darby opened the door to Exam Room 2. The Wonder Twins had placed a small pair of binoculars inside a fuming chamber.
Mark Alves, his Portuguese skin tanned the colour of mahogany, pointed to the binoculars and said, ‘I don’t think we’re going to get any prints off them. Hopefully we’ll have better luck with this stuff.’
He pointed to the items on the table: a bloody straight-edged razor and labelled strips of duct tape.
Randy Scott, a pencil tucked behind his ear, stood next to Darby, flipping through pages on his clipboard. He smelled of sunscreen. He never tanned and avoided the sun. His father and brother had died of melanoma, the same skin cancer that had killed Darby’s mother.
While she waited, Darby looked at the well-worn binoculars. NIKON was stamped on the plastic chassis. The manufacturer had installed a thick black rubber armour to prevent damage in case they were dropped. The rubber had cracked because of age and exposure, and she saw scratches on the lenses and a mended crack along the side the owner had repaired with glue. The heads of two Phillips-head screws had been stripped.
‘Okay, here it is,’ Randy said. ‘The bloody footprints on the driveway, walkway and front steps belong to the EMTs. We matched them to the boots they were wearing last night. The footprints you found in the garage match the ones on the deck and kitchen floor. And the size and shape matches the muddy footprint on the living room carpet.
‘We lifted a really good footprint from the garage and kitchen floors. The sole and tread marks match a type of sneaker called the Gel Nimbus, made by Asics. They’re a size nine. They’re also a woman’s sneaker.’
‘A woman’s sneaker,’ Darby repeated, more to herself than to Randy.
‘That’s according to the national footwear database we use, and I triple-checked everything just to make sure. That being said, I’m not suggesting a woman was inside the house. It could be that a man accidently bought them. It does happen on occasion. Tell her, Mark.’
Mark didn’t answer, just kept writing on his clipboard.
‘Tell me what?’ Darby asked.
Mark sighed. ‘There was this one time I accidentally bought a pair of women’s sneakers. I went to a basement sale and some of the sneakers were mixed up. They fit, they were comfortable, so I bought them.’
‘You said you liked the cute yellow stripes,’ Randy said. ‘That’s why you bought them.’
Darby laughed. Mark shot Randy the finger and returned to his notes.
‘I checked our footwear… database,’ Randy said, grinning. The lab’s footwear database consisted of a collection of three-ring binders. ‘I didn’t find a match to any evidence from local cases.’
‘What did you find in the woods?’
‘This way,’ he said, opening the door.
She followed him to a small conference room. Bagged evidence sat on the table. He had tacked pictures of the evidence to a wall. Across from it, on a whiteboard, he had drawn a topographical sketch of the woods, dividing sections into twenty-eight quadrants and marking the areas where he’d found evidence.
‘These areas right here – Quadrants 1 through 7 – are directly behind the back fence,’ Randy said. ‘The gentleman you encountered with the night-vision goggles stood behind the tree in Quadrant 17 – the same place you found the blister pack. That area gave him a great tactical advantage. He could see the woods, and he had quick access to the second incline that led up to the road.
‘The first stun grenade landed here, in Quadrant 10, where you found the phone. We recovered the spent shell casings from that area and from the top of the second incline, Quadrants 24 and 25. They’re all Smith and Wesson forties. We dug the slugs from the tree trunk and sent them up to ballistics.
‘He threw three smoke grenades, and, as you can see, they line the second row here near the top of the first incline, Quadrants 9 through 13.’
‘He created a smoke screen.’
‘That’s exactly what he did. He kept everyone back in order to provide enough time for him to grab the phone and for his partners to haul away the body. All the items of evidence we recovered were in tight, concentrated areas. Except for this.’ He pointed to the top-left-hand corner, Quadrant 22. ‘This is where I found the binoculars. It’s far away from the other footprints we found in the woods. The footprints I found in Quadrant 22 match the ones left on the deck steps and on the garage floor.’
‘Do the sneaker prints match any of the others you found inside the woods?’
‘No, they don’t.’
Darby stared at the grid map, thinking about the person who had shot their way inside the house and cut Sean Sheppard lose. If this shooter was part of the group she’d seen in the woods, why were they standing so far away from the others?
‘That’s all I have,’ Randy said. ‘Do you want to examine the evidence yourself, or would you like me to work on it?’
‘I want to see one of the Smith and Wesson forties.’
He handed her a bag. He had bagged each spent round individually and marked it with a number to correspond to its location on the grid map. Christ, he’s thorough.
Using a pen, she examined the spark plug. It seemed to be the right size. No irregular borders or markings.
‘I want to run each one of these through the mass spectrometer.’ She told him about the microstamp.
Darby checked her watch. Quarter to four.
‘Mark and I won’t leave until we’re finished,’ Randy said. ‘I know this is a top priority.’
‘I was just checking the time. I need to make some phone calls.’
‘Well, we’ll be here if you need us.’
‘Nice work, Randy.’
‘Nothing to it.’
26
Darby sat in her office chair, typing on her keyboard. She had, courtesy of Police Commissioner Chadzynski, a computer with direct access to the Boston Police Department’s Crime Justice Information System, the same network used by homicide detectives and patrolmen.
She found the case file numbers for the murders of Donnie and Sue Sheppard. No details were listed. She looked at the date. April 13, 1983. Homicides prior to 1985 hadn’t been transferred to the database. The murder books and physical evidence were stored in one of the trailers out in Hyde Park. She picked up the phone. The desk sergeant who took the call promised to deliver the murder books and the associated evidence to the lab no later than noon tomorrow.
A Google searched revealed that RES did, in fact, stand for Reynolds Engineering Systems. The company was based in Wilmington, Virginia. According to its website, RES was one of the leading developers of microstamping technology.
She had to wait on the line for more than half an hour while her call was transferred to various department heads. Each time she had to reintroduce herself and explain the reason for her call. Each time the person she talked to had to bump the call up to his or her superior. Finally, a vice-president came on the line, and after much discussion he put her in touch with the head of the division in charge of microstamping, a pleasant-sounding woman named Madeira James.
Darby went through the whole rigmarole of who she was and the reason for her call. James put her
on hold. Ten minutes later she came back on the line.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss McCormick, but I needed to gather some materials and also check in with some people. Everyone here is, well, more than a little alarmed at the possibility that one of our microstamped prototypes is connected to a homicide investigation.’
‘I understand.’
‘Those codes you found stamped on the bullet, could you please give them to me again?’
She did.
‘Okay,’ James said. ‘That bottom row of numbers, B4M6?? Those codes correspond to a batch of test ammo we ran on… Here it is, January 16th of last year. According to my notes, the ammo was used for an in-house demonstration.’
‘Do you mean a demonstration for company executives?’
‘It’s possible. The bigwigs like to check in once in a while to see how their money’s being spent. The demo could have been given to a law enforcement agency. We’re trying to get everyone on board with the new technology, to show them how it will change ballistics identification. Of course, the gun lobbyists are fighting it tooth and nail.’
‘I need to know the names of the people who were at this demonstration.’
‘I don’t have that information here. It’s on the other side of the building, under lock and key.’
‘You can’t access it?’
‘Not right now – the vault, as we call it, is about to close for the day. I have to fill out a form to access the records, and I need to get it signed by several people, including the president. I know it sounds like a bureaucracy – and you would be right – but the main reason is we have to be wary of corporate spying. There are four competing companies who are developing some sort of microstamping technology. Only one company will be chosen. We’re talking, potentially, hundreds of millions of dollars, so you can see why we need the extra security.’
‘The first row, GLK18. Is that the code for a Glock eighteen?’
‘That’s what I have here in my notes.’
‘What do you know about handguns, Miss James?’
‘Not much, I’m afraid. I’m just involved in the technology part.’
