by Chris Carter
To get to the house’s front door, they needed to circle around the left side of the garage building, following the driveway. They did so in single file and as stealthily as they could. Palmer took the lead. As they rounded the corner, even from a few yards away, Palmer and Bishop could tell that the front door had been left ajar.
‘Crap,’ Bishop said. ‘Not a great sign. So are we going in or waiting for back-up? Dispatch said that this is a possible armed 10-62.’
Palmer’s eyebrows arched at his partner. ‘I’m not waiting.’
‘Going in it is, then,’ Bishop said, and quickly crossed herself.
They positioned themselves one on each side of the door. Palmer used his fingers to run down a silent count of three and slowly pushed the door until it was fully open.
With their weapons and flashlights drawn, they both took a deep breath and entered the house. Palmer swung right while Bishop went left.
The front door opened into a large anteroom with a teardrop crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, a circular mirror on the wall to their right and two large vases flanking a double door a few paces in front of them. Not many places to hide.
‘Clear,’ Palmer announced.
‘Clear,’ Bishop replied.
The next room was an impressive entry foyer, with checkered black-and-white granite flooring and white wainscoting running along all the walls. Directly in front of them was a sumptuous turned staircase, leading up to the second floor. The opened double door to their right clearly led into a massive living-room area. To their left they saw another double door, this one shut. Just past the staircase, also on the left wall, there was a single wooden door that had been left a couple of inches ajar.
‘Shit,’ Bishop whispered. ‘What do we do now?’
Palmer allowed his stare to crawl around the foyer while he figured out their next move.
‘Maybe it would be best if we split up.’
‘What, really?’
‘What do you suggest?’
‘Sticking together, that’s what. This is too much like one of those horror films.’
‘What? What horror film?’
‘Those where the girl cop dies first.’
‘Are you for real?’
Click. Click. A muffled noise echoed throughout the room.
‘Shhhh,’ Palmer said, his eyes like an owl’s. ‘Did you hear that?’
‘Damn straight I did. Where did it come from?’
‘Not sure.’ He signaled for them to wait and listen.
Two seconds.
Four seconds.
Five seconds.
Click. Click. The sound came again and this time they both turned to face the single door along the left wall, just past the staircase.
‘I think it came from over there,’ Bishop said, nodding at the door.
‘Yeah, that was my impression as well.’
Being extra cautious, Officers Palmer and Bishop approached the door.
Click. Click. They heard it again, but it still sounded somewhat distant, which meant that it wasn’t coming from directly behind the door.
Palmer first brought a finger to his lips, then reached out and very slowly pushed the door open, hoping to God that the hinges wouldn’t creak.
They didn’t, but it didn’t matter. There was no one there. Instead the door got them to a concrete staircase that led down to the house’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs there was a second door, also a couple of inches ajar, but this time there was light coming from behind it.
Palmer signaled Bishop that they should go down together. He would go first.
Bishop agreed with a head nod.
They took the steps down one by one and very carefully. As they finally reached the second door, Bishop could swear her heart was about to explode out of her chest.
They heard a new noise come from behind the door. This time it sounded like movement.
Palmer signaled his partner one more time. The message was for Bishop to get ready. He would push the door open, but he wouldn’t do it slowly like before. The move would be fast and sudden with the intention to catch by surprise whoever was behind the door.
Once again, Bishop indicated her understanding with a head gesture.
Up came the three-finger silent countdown one more time.
Three . . .
Two . . .
One.
Thirty-Four
With a drag that seemed to last an eternity, Adrian Kennedy lit his second cigarette from the first.
Hunter waited.
‘I knew it would be hard to get it past you, old buddy,’ Kennedy said, as he exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. ‘But even I wasn’t expecting you to figure it out so quickly. So what gave it away?’
‘You, Adrian,’ Hunter replied. ‘You gave it away.’
‘Really? When?’
‘The first time,’ Hunter explained. ‘When I flipped through Kristine Rivers’ investigation file upstairs.’
Kennedy questioned with a stare.
‘It said that you attended the crime scene.’
The stare was still there.
‘C’mon, Adrian, I know you, and I know how the NCAVC works. You won’t travel anywhere unless it’s absolutely mandatory. Most of the NCAVC’s operations are coordinated either from your office in Quantico or the one in DC; there’s rarely a need for you to become field active.’
Kennedy watched the smoke curl up in the air as it left the tip of his cigarette. He looked like he was enjoying Hunter’s assessment.
‘Sure,’ Hunter continued, ‘this killer’s first murder was intriguing, but not enough to get the NCAVC’s director so worked up about it that he had to attend the scene himself. There was nothing there you hadn’t seen before, Adrian – a killer who takes body parts from his victims? A killer who carves messages into his victims’ flesh? A killer who likes to position his victims in a specific way? The Bureau’s archives back in Quantico are littered with similar cases.’ Hunter shook his head. ‘No, there had to have been some other reason why you went to Detroit and so fast. Don’t tell me Detroit PD requested the FBI’s help, because I know they didn’t. Not within just a few hours of the body being discovered.’
‘I see your logic, Robert,’ Kennedy said. ‘And it makes total sense, but the reason we turned up in Detroit doesn’t necessarily have to be linked to the victim. It could be linked to the killer.’
‘That was actually my first thought,’ Hunter admitted. ‘A dormant killer. Someone who the NCAVC were already looking for. A killer who perhaps had gone into a long cool-off period and had finally decided to resurface. But that still wouldn’t completely justify your presence at the crime scene. Then your body language gave it away again.’
Kennedy looked a little surprised. ‘Did it? When?’
‘When Kristine Rivers’ crime-scene photographs were displayed,’ Hunter explained. ‘Your composure wavered fractionally and your eyes averted from the images. The more we talked about her, the more fidgety you got.’
Kennedy looked like he was trying to recall the moment.
‘Then, just a while later,’ Hunter added, ‘I asked if she’d been sexually assaulted. Agent Fisher exchanged a flash look with you before responding, and immediately after that you reciprocated the question, this time concerning the LA victim. There was more than just apprehension in your voice, Adrian. There was pain. After I told you that the killer didn’t touch Linda Parker in that way either, the pain in your voice turned into relief.’ Hunter paused, studying the NCAVC director.
Kennedy held steady.
‘Pain for Miss Rivers’ death and relief for the fact that she hadn’t been sexually assaulted.’
Another pause.
Again Kennedy kept his poker face.
‘I know you well enough to know that you never allow yourself to get involved, Adrian. Add to that the fact that you referred to the victim by her first name at least a couple of times and something here isn’t quite right. Rule number one of the NCAVC when workin
g brutal serial-murder cases: never let it get personal, never get emotionally attached to anything or anyone, especially the victims.’
Kennedy flicked the filter of his cigarette with his thumb, tipping the ash before looking back at Hunter.
‘What if I told you that Kristine Rivers was with the FBI’s Witness Protection Program and that is why we got involved so fast?’
‘Then I would tell you to get your agents, get the hell out of my office and stop wasting my time.’
‘Why?’
‘Because she wasn’t with the Witness Protection Program, Adrian.’
‘How can you be so sure? The names on the FBI’s WPP are highly classified.’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Hunter sounded half-offended. ‘If Kristine Rivers was part of the WPP she wouldn’t have been relocated to a major city like Detroit, or allowed to enroll into a top university like Wayne State – too much exposure. The risk of her being recognized by a fellow student, a teacher, or even on the streets of Detroit by a stranger would be too great. WPP subjects always get relocated to obscure little towns somewhere in the back of beyond, not to huge metropolises. Plus, neither you nor your agents have a clue who this killer could be. If Kristine Rivers had been murdered because she was with the WPP, you would know where to start looking.’
Kennedy gave Hunter a lifeless smile while nodding.
‘So can we please drop the bullshit now?’ Hunter said. ‘Who was she, Adrian?’
Kennedy gazed at the photograph Hunter was holding. ‘You probably read in the file that her mother’s name is Suzanne Rivers, right?’
Hunter nodded once.
‘What the file doesn’t show is that Kristine’s mother’s maiden name is Suzanne Kennedy. She’s my sister. Kristine was my niece, Robert.’
Thirty-Five
In finally hearing Kennedy’s revelation about Kristine Rivers’ true identity, Hunter’s face fell. He knew that this time Kennedy had come clean.
‘I’m . . . so sorry, Adrian. I didn’t mean to . . .’
Kennedy looked away for an instant.
‘I know you didn’t, Robert. I know you well enough, old buddy.’ One more puff of his cigarette.
‘So why didn’t you tell me from the start? Did you really think you could keep that sort of information hidden from us throughout the investigation?’
‘Of course I didn’t think I’d be able to keep it hidden,’ Kennedy replied. ‘Even if I wanted to, I know you would find out. I just didn’t expect it to be within the hour. I thought I had done a great job up there when those pictures came out.’ He shrugged. ‘Obviously not. But I would’ve told you everything once this initial meeting was over, anyway. Before I fly back to Washington tonight.’
‘Why after the meeting?’ Hunter asked. ‘Why not come clean from the start?’
Three uniformed police officers on their cigarette break exited the PAB and stopped a few feet from Hunter. As they lit up, Kennedy motioned Hunter to walk with him.
‘Because I didn’t want you to get onboard just as a favor to me,’ Kennedy said, once they were out of earshot. ‘I didn’t want you to think that I was using my niece’s murder as a reason to bring you into this investigation.’
He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out against the wall.
‘I wanted you on this case, Robert. I wanted you on this case from day one because you can read these scenarios better than anyone I know, and to be very truthful, there’s no one else inside the FBI or any other law-enforcement agency whose professional ability I trust and respect more than yours.’
Kennedy took a second and his next words came out dusted with emotion. ‘This bastard took my niece. He mutilated her face. He took her eyes. He scalped her. Who the fuck does that? And then he left her body inside a dirty and disgusting shed, amidst junkies’ discarded syringes and used rubbers, but you know what the funny thing is? Despite all my anger and hatred, I’m almost grateful to this bastard for not raping her.’
Out came cigarette number three.
‘I know you didn’t know her, Robert, but she was the sweetest girl you could ever meet. Always smiling. Always positive about everything. Happiness was just part of her.’ A new sadness danced across Kennedy’s face. ‘She was only twenty years old. She had her whole life still in front of her. She had so much to live for and some sick fuck took it away from her. He took her away from us.’
Hunter had never seen Kennedy that emotional.
‘Her family . . . my sister, they’re all in pieces. Me? I’m in pieces too, but I’m also pissed the fuck off, and I will not stop until this sack of shit is caught. Believe me, I came this close to calling you more than once.’ He indicated with his thumb and index finger. ‘Then, early this morning I got the news that The Surgeon’s possible third victim had been found right here in Los Angeles. I didn’t even have to check. I knew that the LAPD’s UVC Unit would have the case. I knew that you would have the case.’
Hunter leaned back against the wall.
‘With three victims,’ Kennedy proceeded, ‘the carvings he makes into his victims’ backs, the words in Latin and the puzzle that this creep leaves us, I had no doubt that the case itself would intrigue you enough for you to want in, especially when one of the victims was taken inside your own turf. But I wanted to talk to you face to face. I didn’t want to do this over the phone. That’s why I’m here. If you hadn’t agreed to the joint investigation, I would’ve asked to talk to you in private and I would’ve come clean.’
Hunter looked back at Kennedy.
‘Yes, I probably would’ve bagged you for your help. Not that you haven’t already figured this out, but we’ve got nothing, Robert. For the past two months or so, I’ve had practically every agent at my disposal working endless hours in some aspect of this investigation and we haven’t moved an inch. And you already know why, don’t you?’
Hunter said nothing in reply, but Kennedy knew he knew.
‘Yes,’ Kennedy admitted. ‘We threw ourselves head first into a single theory – that Kristine had been no random victim. Her murder just couldn’t have been a coincidence. In my eyes and consequently the eyes of the FBI, there could’ve been only one reason why she was chosen, and that reason was me. I had no doubt of that. After all, I’m the Director of the FBI’s National Center for the Analyses of Violent Crimes and the Behavioral Analysis Unit. By default, I’m responsible for the imprisonment and even the death of hundreds upon hundreds of criminals. The list of people out there who’d love to hurt me as a payback for something they deem me responsible for is probably longer than the Mississippi River. And then there were the carvings on Kristine’s back. Once we finally deciphered them, my certainty that she had been murdered just because she was my niece grew exponentially – “Beauty is in the relationship”.’
Kennedy allowed those words to propagate through the air for a moment.
‘In my mind,’ he continued, ‘there was no ambiguity to the meaning of that phrase. The killer could only be referring to one kind of relationship – family.’
Kennedy paused again, giving Hunter a second to think about it.
‘The beauty of family, Robert, shattered by the hands of a sick sonofabitch. The way I saw it, the carvings were just the killer’s way of making sure I didn’t miss the real reason my niece lost her life.’
‘But why not just come out and say it?’ Hunter asked. ‘A letter sent to you . . . an anonymous phone call . . . even a text message. There were loads of different ways the killer could’ve let you know. Why write the phrase in Latin? Why make it into a puzzle with most of the letters looking like symbols and the words broken out of place?’
‘Why do you think, Robert?’
Hunter realized how silly his query had been. ‘Because that’s what you and the NCAVC do.’ He answered his own question, nodding at himself.
‘That’s correct,’ Kennedy agreed. ‘It’s our job to figure out clues, riddles, puzzles, taunts . . . anything perpetrators leave behind, purposely
or not. He wanted to make sure I knew, but he wasn’t about to do my job for me. Everything fitted perfectly for Kristine’s murder to have been a “payback” job.’
‘Were you two close?’ Hunter asked. ‘You and Kristine?’
‘With my job?’ Kennedy shook his head. ‘It’s hard to be a family man of any sort. Why do you think I have two ex-wives? I barely have time to take a piss. But I did make an effort. Kristine was my only niece. I saw her once, maybe twice a year. She was a law student and criminal law was definitely her thing, so sometimes she would come visit me in Quantico. She loved the whole academy thing – the archives, the stories, the photos, the forensics lab . . . everything.’
Hunter stayed quiet and Kennedy had another puff of his cigarette before continuing.
‘Trust me, Robert, I had a platoon of agents and cadets going through old cases, name lists . . . everything we could think of. Then out of the blue we got a call from the Wichita Police Department. I’m sure you can already imagine the sort of havoc a second victim brought into our investigation. Not once, while investigating Kristine’s murder, did the word “serial” get mentioned. We were all positive that her murder had been a direct attack on me.’ For a second Kennedy looked almost angry with himself. ‘When Albert Greene got added to the equation, we were forced to reassess our theory, but even then I was so blinded by anger, so sure that Kristine’s murder had been a retaliation act that we just carried on making mistakes and losing time. We expanded our payback theory and we never stopped knocking at the wrong doors.’
‘Expanded the payback theory?’ Hunter asked. ‘How?’
Kennedy shrugged. ‘Before I leave today I’ll make sure that you and Detective Garcia have full copies of our entire investigation so far into both murders, including every single photograph we have, crime scene and otherwise. You guys can have a look for yourselves.’
‘All right.’
‘But my stubbornness stops now,’ Kennedy reassured Hunter. ‘With Linda Parker being taken here in LA . . .’ He shook his head. ‘This isn’t about me. It can’t be because Albert Greene and Linda Parker simply don’t belong. Despite how angry I am, I have to accept that unfortunately Kristine was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time.’
