The Harbinger Collection: Hard-boiled Mysteries Not for the Faint of Heart (A McCray Crime Collection)

by Carolyn McCray

  It was Nicole’s turn to frown. Again, don’t poke the bear unless you have a foolproof bear trap ready.

  Finally she sighed. “So far the other two victims have been women. Young women. Mid-twenties. Dark haired. They could have been sisters.”

  Nicole always so factual and not abstract enough.

  “Good, but wrong.”

  Nicole sighed heavily. He knew that she hated this part. The part where you had to forget about linear thinking and think like a serial killer. She was just too good a person. She wanted to think the world ran off of law and order rather than impulse and psychosis.

  She had to leave behind her white picket fence thinking and submerge herself in the brine of man’s lower instincts.

  “Back in the 40s, maybe,” Kent stated. “But now with CSI and freaking unsolved murders? Only the stupidest or most compulsive murderers are going to stick to a strict type.”

  Nicole came out of her funk and turned to him, seeming to understand where he was going with this. “And because he has been using forensic countermeasures, we haven’t found any hair, fibers, prints or even illuminating trace, he isn’t stupid and the length of time between killings shows he isn’t compulsive.”

  Kent nodded. “I think they may even go so far afield this time as to kill a man. He is actively going to try and throw us off the scent, however…”

  Nicole smiled. “The first few killings are the most important. The most personal. The most revealing of the killer’s character.”

  There were times he was so proud of her. Like now. Forcing herself out of her comfort zone. Really digging deeply to connect with the serial killer on some level. She just had a few more steps to go to catch up with him.

  “Ding, ding, ding. Correct.” Kent answered then continued, “Whatever they do from here also reveals character since they are working at cross-purposes to their compulsion. He won’t get as much satisfaction from these killings so he will have to kill sooner and sooner.”

  “Not great for the victims, but helpful to us?” Nicole stated. She hated this lag period when the killings were ongoing, yet weren’t giving them enough information to catch the killer.

  Nicole nodded. “There’s a reason it normally takes five to six killings to get a bead on the killer. Each killing reveals more and more of the killer to us.”

  Finally she was understanding.

  “Until I can hunt his victims as effectively as he is hunting them.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Nicole hung back as they entered the crime scene. Outside the carousel seemed normal. Garbage cans overflowing with the remains of cotton candy and snow cones.

  Inside the carousel though?

  She’d already seen it, thank you very much. She really didn’t want to have to see it again. Besides isn’t that what crime scene photos are for?

  Kent, however didn’t break stride as he climbed up onto the carousel, cutting between a horse and a dancing cow. Even his feet stalled though as he made his way to the interior of the platform.

  Nicole didn’t know why she didn’t just join him. Every time she closed her eyes, she could see the crime scene as if she were standing there.

  There wasn’t just blood splatter everywhere. It looked like someone had taken a bucket of blood and spun around with it. Nicole had never seen so much blood and that included the exsanguinate killer. Somehow using a chainsaw seemed to quadruple the amount of blood.

  Probably because it wasn’t just blood flung onto the ceiling, ride and floor. It was tiny bits of flesh. Well, more than flesh, it was organs, sinew and bone as well.

  Nicole’s stomach did a roll as she remembered seeing the pancreas on the lion seat. There was just something so very wrong to have such an innocent place so defiled. She knew that Kent would tell her that was the point of this murder location.

  The killer was going for the shock value.

  Well, they’d hit that nail on the head.

  As much as she postured to Kent, right now she had to admit she kind of understood the common serial killer. The ones that killed prostitutes and homeless people.

  She understood that most serialists were either sociopaths or psychopaths. That they lacked empathy. That they could experience pleasure at killing but not understand that it hurt the other party.

  But really, there wasn’t another way to get their rocks off? Plus many of these killers employed anti-forensic measures like this killer. If you didn’t know it was bad, why cover your tracks?

  She and Kent had gone round and round about this conundrum. Let’s just say she never won that discussion. Even with all of that though, she had some glimmer of understanding. The killers enjoyed themselves and like any addict, they were always chasing the high. Death was their crack.

  But this? This was just inhuman. How could one human being do this to another. How could anyone enjoy doing this to another human?

  Nicole shuddered. She really, really didn’t want to know the answer to that question. She worried for Kent. Once he delved deep into a case, he had to descend to the level of madness of the killer. Seldom did he come back unscathed.

  What would this case cost him? What would it cost their relationship?

  * * *

  Kent went to step forward, but Joshua backed him off. “Sorry, that area hasn’t been processed yet.”

  Normally that was one of the CSI’s line, but today, Joshua, being the coroner’s assistant was charged with collecting all of the body. Which in this instance was nearly a herculean task.

  Kent respected Joshua’s boundaries. He had as much invested in gathering all the body parts as Joshua.

  “Any ID yet?”

  Joshua looked up. His perfectly coiffed hair not moving at all as the morgue attendant raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? I doubt if we’re going to retrieve enough to fill a shoe box, let alone a coffin.”

  Kent had no doubt. This was one of the more gruesome crime scenes he’d attended. Normally he would tease and chide Nicole for hanging back, but in this instance, he really couldn’t give her any crap.

  “But we are certain it is a male?”

  Joshua nodded. “Yeah, the first thing I bagged was his… well you know.”

  “It was cut off?” Kent asked.

  “Oh yah,” Joshua said, his face scrunching up like a kid that just ate a sour patch kid. “Along with the rest of the package. I found one up on the top of the lion’s head.”

  “Refresh my memory,” Kent asked the morgue attendant. “There wasn’t any damage to the other two victim’s sexual organs?”

  Joshua shook his head. “Nah. The breasts were cut, but only because it was a sixty degree arcing cut. The pubic bone was severed in half, but you didn’t feel that was sexual either.”

  The morgue attendant was one of the few people that were as familiar with the victim’s bodies as Kent was. Joshua had a nearly perfect memory of every crime scene.

  So was this cutting off of the genitals a new found hatred of the male gender or was it simply an evolution of the killer’s zeal and love affair with the chainsaw? This crime scene certainly had more “gusto” than the last two.

  The killer was hitting his stride. Unabashed. Reveling in the carnage.

  And said carnage was also a fairly effective forensic counter measure. With all this gore, it was almost impossible to tell what came first. There was no void in the splatter so apparently the killer moved around a lot, hacking and sawing as he went.

  This kill had taken commitment and some pretty amazing upper body strength. Chainsaws weren’t light and even a chainsaw cutting through a human backbone was no easy task.

  Kent knew that Nicole hated it when he respected a killer, but this one he really did have to take his hat off to. This was a level of obsession and physical prowess that might never be matched again.

  Looking at the blood soaked carousel, all Kent could say was, damn.

  * * *

  Nicole paced outside the carousel. Kent had been in there longer than sh
e had expected. Usually he was in and out of there so fast it seemed impossible that he had actually viewed the body.

  He chose this one to lollygag around?

  A light caught Nicole’s eye as a cameraman and a gaggle of reporters rushed toward the carousel.

  “Officer Tandy!” Nicole barked. The crime scene officer hurried over, blocking the group.

  “I’m sorry but no reporters allowed,” the officer stated.

  The woman, tall and stunningly beautiful strode forward. She had chiseled features. A jawline that seemed to go on forever. Perfectly shaped eyebrows. And those lips? Blood red and luscious.

  Nicole was not usually one to notice features on anyone, let alone a chick, but come on. This chick was the blond version of Angelina Jolie. She was so tall, she was statuesque and could probably compete with Barbie for measurements. Ample breasts and narrow hips.

  The reporter was dressed in what Nicole considered a power suit. Dark blue skirt and jacket with a cream blouse. Four inch heels only added to her Amazonesque stature.

  “We’re not reporters,” the woman said blowing past poor Officer Tandy. Nicole stepped in front of her.

  “No cameras allowed,” Nicole growled. She had barely met the woman and already she did not like her arrogant, entitled attitude.

  “This is an active crime scene,” Nicole added feeling like a dwarf, a not very attractive dwarf at that, in front of the tall woman.

  The woman snorted. “Which is exactly why we are here.”

  Okay, this was bullshit.

  Nicole nodded to Tandy. “Escort them outside the tape.”

  The woman puffed up though and pulled out a piece of stationary, handing it to Tandy.

  “We were guaranteed full access.”

  Tandy scanned the paper, frowning, then handed it over to Nicole. The first thing she noticed was the letterhead. It was official police station paper. Rapidly she read the letter then skipped down to the signature.

  Captain Glick.

  What the hell?

  The paper was in fact giving this documentary crew, from the show “Infinite Justice” full access to their current investigations and specifically to Kent.

  “Can you please escort us to Special Agent in Charge Harbinger?” the woman asked, showing exactly how little research she had done on Kent.

  “First off, Kent isn’t even officially a Special Agent anymore,” Nicole informed them. The woman’s creaseless face sagged a little. “And no one in their right mind would put him in charge.”

  “But he is on scene,” a shorter, frumpier, bespectacled woman asked.

  “Of course,” Nicole said. “Did he agree to this?”

  “Does it matter?” the woman in glasses asked. “The mayor, chief of police and your captain have.”

  Nicole smiled. None of that mattered. If Kent hadn’t agreed, this film crew was in for quite the ride.

  She stepped out of the way. Why bother to argue with them? She’d let Kent fight his own battles on this one. “He’s right through there.”

  Even though she really had no desire to see the crime scene again, Nicole stayed hot on their heels.

  She would pay to see the show that followed.

  * * *

  Kent made his way past a unicorn and a manatee to exit the carousel only to find himself blinded by a camera’s glaring light. He’d known something was up when he’d heard Nicole’s pitch go up about three octaves.

  A woman strode toward him like she owned the place. Kent could swear that he recognized her, but couldn’t place how or why.

  Then he saw it. The tiny marks that other people would guess were just fine lines at the edge of her eyes, lips, and temple. But Kent knew better. They were the tiny scars left by plastic surgery. By all accounts it looked like the woman had an eyebrow lift, a chin implant and a nose job.

  Not many people would endure so much plastic surgery and fewer even could afford the type of plastic surgeon that left so little marks.

  So? Kent’s conclusion? The woman was in the film industry. On-air. That’s when it hit him. She starred in the basic cable show “Infinite Justice.” He’d spent enough nights awake in front of the television to see a handful of her re-runs once animal planet went dark.

  And she was here, with her crew, lights blazing.

  Bridget, that’s what Kent thought her name was, was also holding out a piece of paper as if it could shield her from any recrimination.

  Right.

  Kent waited until she was up in his face, pointing her mic in toward his mouth.

  He could guess what the paper said. Someone higher up the food chain than him had given her permission to film her skanky show. Of course, no one had bothered to inform him.

  Glick was probably giggling all the way home to his gin and tonic.

  “What case are you working on?” Bridget asked him.

  “First, we need to finish up some paperwork. Releases.”

  Bridgit waved him off. “We already signed the release forms from the department.”

  “Oh no, I need you to sign mine. I need a waiver that none of your heirs will sue me.”

  A shorter, brunette woman who looked like she shopped at Wal-Mart rather than Neiman Marcus stepped forward. “Why? Why aren’t the departmental waivers enough?”

  “Oh,” Kent replied. “Because you are going to die. All of you. And I don’t want to have to defend myself, personally from your heirs.”

  The shorter woman, whom Kent could only guess that was the show’s producer giggled nervously.

  “No, I am serious,” Kent replied. If they knew him at all, they would know that. “You morons are used to following around idiotic detectives who are looking for low risk criminals --”

  “Low risk?” Bridget said with a sharp intake of breath. “I will have you know that we have filmed the capture of pedophiles, murderers and serial killers.”

  Kent turned to Nicole. “What do I always say?”

  Nicole wore a smirk to match his own. “Anyone can catch the ugly and the stupid.”

  Kent turned back to Bridget. “Exactly. Your pedophile was a florist. The ‘murderer’ killed his ninety pound soaking wet wife with sleeping pills and your ‘serial killer’ was offing people in comas…Heady stuff, really.”

  However, instead of being pissed, Bridget smiled. “So you’ve watched my show.”

  “Only to remind myself of how stupid the rest of the world is.”

  This brought a tiny frown to her lips. Kent really didn’t think she could move her facial muscles any more than she was currently.

  He looked to the producer. Bridget might be this little gaggle’s front man, but the homely chick really ran the show. “I am serious,” Kent insisted. “You still need me to sign off on allowing my image to be used. I won’t allow it unless you sign my waiver.”

  Bridget’s expression changed ever so slightly. Her eyes though remained calculating. You could tell she wasn’t used to being told what to do. Too bad, guess she was going to have to get used to the sensation.

  “Fine,” the woman spat. “But I want to be able to film the crime scene tonight. You don’t have to be in the shot.”

  You know, this chick might make a good dominatrix, she drove a hard bargain.

  “Sure,” Kent said shrugging, waving his arm like a game show host.

  “Kent!” Nicole barked. What was he thinking?

  “No, please, be my guest,” Kent encouraged.

  What was his angle? What was he playing at?

  The television crew passed by as Nicole caught up with him. “What are you thinking?”

  Kent draped his arm over her shoulder. “Oh, just wait for it.”

  * * *

  Nicole didn’t have to wait long. The short producer woman was the first to burst out of the carousel, puking between a dog and a fish. The cameraman was next, gagging and retching, his camera still on his shoulder, bouncing around, probably still recording.

  Last out was the anchor. She stumbled in
her high heels, her legs like rubber. She clutched onto a giraffe, keeping herself upright as her other arm wrapped around her abdomen. Her face was green, literally green. Not even her pancake makeup could hide the color.

  Nicole wasn’t such a nice enough person not to take a little glee from the woman being taken down a peg or two.

  The woman burped once, loud, as her hand flew to her lips. “Excuse me,” she said although her voice was a little shaky.

  To Nicole’s surprise the woman recovered fairly quickly. First the color came back into her face. She went from green to flush. Then she stood straighter, smoothing her blouse with the palm of her hand.

  And with that she was back to normal.

  “Alright, get it together,” the woman said to her team, patting the cameraman on his back. “We’ve got to get back in there.”

  The guy seemed to gain some strength from his boss’ touch and stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “On it.”

  The woman’s face split in a smile. “This is so going to get a TV-MA rating.”

  Then she was gone as well, back to the crime scene. Only the producer hung back, dry heaving. The woman seemed horrified down to her bone marrow. She just didn’t seem to be able to stop her stomach from clenching up. One of the police officers was helping to hold her hair back as she retched.

  This was not pretty. Nicole felt for the poor woman. No one should have to see what they both did. It was unnatural.

  Which pretty much summed up Buzz Kill.

  The serial killer had burst onto the scene, rattling the city. The viciousness of the crimes had gotten the media really going. Buzz Kill was on everyone’s lips. You couldn’t go into any coffee shop in the city without hearing the name dropped.

  And equal disdain for the police for not being able to catch Buzz Kill.

  TV had taught people that serious crimes could be solved in under an hour, with commercial breaks. That wasn’t how it worked. A sophisticated serial killer like this might take months or even years to catch.

  Profiling was slow methodical work.

  The producer wretched again. The sound made Nicole’s stomach twinge in sympathy.

  The work could also be gross at times.

  “They so don’t pay me enough for this,” the producer slurred, but then she too got up and returned to the carousel. She was a little weak on her feet but that didn’t stop her from returning to her team.