New York Night

by Stephen Leather

  Perez parked and she and Nightingale headed inside. A bored receptionist pointed them in the direction of the Medical Examiner’s Office and they followed the signs until they reached another reception area where a brunette in a white coat was bent over a computer terminal. She looked up and peered at them over the top of red-framed spectacles. Nightingale nodded and smiled. ‘We’re looking for a Medical Examiner by the name of Sam Jenner. Any idea where we can find him?’

  The brunette smiled. ‘You’ve found him. Or her.’ She pushed her glasses further up her nose.

  ‘You’ll have to forgive my friend, he’s not used to dealing with women in authority,’ said Perez. She held out her hand. ‘Cheryl Perez. My sexist assistant here is Jack Nightingale.’

  ‘It happens all the time,’ said Jenner, shaking hands with them both. ‘It was my dad, he’s a sexist pig himself at the best of times and figured a neutral name would be a help career-wise.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘And you know what, I’d never admit it to him but he was right.’ She turned and gestured at a set of double metal doors. ‘Mr Wainwright said to expect you, but we don’t have long. How are you on smells?’

  ‘Smells?’ repeated Nightingale.

  ‘It’s not pleasant in there. Not if you’re not used to it.’ She reached into her lab coat and took out a small tub of Vicks Vapor Rub. ‘I carry this for visitors.’

  ‘Definitely,’ said Perez. She took the tub, opened it and smeared some across her upper lip.

  She offered it to Nightingale but he shook his head. ‘I’m good,’ he said.

  The Medical Examiner put the Vicks back into her pocket. ‘Let me know if you change your mind,’ she said. She pushed open the double doors and Perez and Nightingale followed her through. There were two stainless steel autopsy tables in the middle of the room, with circular lighting arrays above them. There was a body covered in a rubber sheet on one of the tables but it was tiny, the size of a toddler. Nightingale turned his eyes away. Jenner pulled open the door to a walk-in refrigerator. There were four racks lined up across the fridge and a single body on one. Jenner drew back a pale green rubber sheet to reveal a teenage girl with mousy brown hair and a snub nose. Her mouth was open. Her skin was pasty white making the half a dozen stab wounds all the more apparent. ‘Sara Moseby, sweet sixteen,’ said Jenner. The Y-shaped cuts made by the medical examiner during the autopsy had been held together with plastic staples.

  ‘Most of the damage was to her back,’ said Jenner.

  ‘Can we take a look?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘There’s not much to see, just a lot of cuts and stab wounds.’

  ‘It’d be helpful,’ said Nightingale.

  Jenner rolled the body onto its side. Nightingale and Perez walked around to get a better look. ‘Oh my God,’ whispered Perez when she saw the damage. There were dozens of cuts where the flesh had been cleanly parted, and as many stab wounds where the flesh had puckered outwards.

  Nightingale looked down at the body. ‘You ever seen anything like this before?’ he asked Jenner.

  She shook her head. ‘No, and I hope I never do again. Whoever did this is one sick puppy. You can tell from the way the wounds bled that she was alive for most of the time he was cutting her.’

  ‘But it wasn’t sexual?’ asked Perez.

  ‘Definitely not. He didn’t go near the sexual organs. And no sign of rape.’

  Defence wounds?’ asked Perez.

  ‘A few small cuts on her hands. It looked to me as if he caught her by surprise. Stabbed her in the stomach and chest and she either fell face down or he turned her over and began slicing and stabbing her back.’

  Nightingale squinted at the centre of the girl’s back. The cuts seemed random but as he stared at the damage he could make out a shape. Three parallel cuts linked by a curve with another curve across the middle line that had a small point on the end. It wasn’t obvious and would only be seen by someone who was looking for it. He pulled out his phone and took three pictures, one with the flash and two without.

  ‘Do you see something?’ asked Perez.

  ‘I just wanted a record of it,’ said Nightingale as he put his phone away, though he could see from the tightening of her jaw that she knew he had avoided her question.

  ‘What about her clothes?’ Nightingale asked the medical examiner.

  ‘They were fine. They came separately in an evidence bag.’

  ‘No blood or cuts?’

  The Medical Examiner shook her head. ‘They must have been removed before the attack.’

  ‘Do they have a suspect?’

  Jenner nodded. ‘Bethlehem is a small town. The local Sheriff knows everyone and within hours they were looking for a guy who lives nearby. Steve Willoughby.’

  ‘Bethlehem?’ said Nightingale. ‘Like the place where Christ was born?’

  ‘The very same,’ said Jenner. ‘Population four thousand give or take. Mainly rural, God-fearing people. It was settled in the seventeenth century by Irish, Dutch and German immigrants.’ She smiled at Nightingale. ‘A few English, too.’

  ‘How much do you know about the case?’

  ‘Not much, but Deputy Sheriff Driscoll is an easy-going guy, I’m sure he’d tell you what’s going on. I spoke to him yesterday afternoon and he was about to go to the papers with an appeal for information.’

  ‘Is he based in Bethlehem?’ asked Perez.

  She shook her head. ‘Hunterdon County Sheriff’s Department is in Court Street. Downtown, a couple of miles away. But he said he’d be out in Bethlehem today.’

  Nightingale looked over at Perez. ‘We should take a run out there.’

  ‘How far is it?’ Perez asked the Medical Examiner.

  ‘Twenty miles. I’ve got the address of the Moseby farm. As I said, Mark’s very approachable.’

  ‘Mark?’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Mark Driscoll. Deputy Sheriff. Just mention my name.’

  Perez nodded at Nightingale. ‘Okay, we can head over there now.’

  CHAPTER 33

  Nightingale expected Perez to mention the fact that he’d photographed Sara Moseby’s back but she drove to the farm in silence. He figured she was using the old interrogator’s trick of hoping that he would say something to fill the silence but he resisted the urge and listened to the radio instead during the half hour drive.

  The Moseby farm seemed to be centred around a large herd of dairy cows that were grazing either side of a dirt road that led to a cluster of brick buildings. There were a number of vehicles parked on a Tarmac square in front of the main house but none of them looked as if they belonged to a Deputy Sheriff. Perez and Nightingale climbed out of the car and looked around. To the right of the house was a children’s play area with a slide and a swing set and a tyre hanging on a rope from a spreading oak tree. There was a young boy sitting on one of the swings, pushing himself slowly backwards and forwards.

  Perez parked in front of the house. There was a Ford Cherokee Jeep and a Range Rover and a couple of Toyota saloons.

  They climbed out of the car. A large chestnut horse looked over at them and neighed, shook its head, and ran off. ‘You go and see if you can talk to the parents, I’ll have a chat with the boy,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘You might want to rethink that,’ said Perez.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because generally it’s not a good idea for middle-aged men in raincoats to be approaching young boys,’ said Perez.

  ‘Point taken,’ said Nightingale. ‘Plan B it is, then.’ He headed towards the house.

  Perez walked over to the boy on the swing. He didn’t look up as she approached, just continued to stare at the dusty ground as he pushed himself backwards and forwards on the swing. ‘Hi, my name’s Cheryl,’ she said. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Luke,’ said the boy. He squinted up at her. ‘Are you a police lady?’

  ‘I used to be,’ she said.

  ‘Do you have a gun?’

  ‘Not with me,’ she said.


  ‘I can shoot a gun,’ said Luke.

  ‘Wow,’ said Perez. ‘How old are you?’

  ‘Ten.’

  ‘I didn’t shoot a gun until I was twenty,’ said Perez.

  Luke nodded. ‘Daniel taught me.’

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘My brother. He’s dead.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said Perez.

  ‘He got drunk and crashed his truck,’ said Luke. ‘My dad said he’s a damn fool.’

  ‘You must miss him.’

  Luke nodded solemnly. ‘A lot. My sister died too.’

  ‘I heard about that.’ She looked over her shoulder at the house. Nightingale was knocking on the door.

  ‘They say that Steve killed her but I don’t think so because Steve was Sara’s friend,’ said Luke.

  ‘Steve is your neighbour, right?’

  Luke nodded again. ‘He was Daniel’s friend but he was sort of my friend too.’

  ‘You must miss Sara a lot, too.’

  Luke nodded again. ‘Now my mom and dad only have me.’

  ‘You’re very important to them. They’re going to need your help because they’ll both be very sad, too.’

  ‘I know,’ said Luke.

  Perez looked over at the house. A woman had opened the door and was talking to Nightingale.

  ‘Luke, did you ever play Charlie Charlie?’

  ‘You know about Charlie Charlie?’

  ‘Sure. Everyone knows about Charlie Charlie. Have you tried it?’

  Luke nodded. ‘Sara wanted me to. She wanted to talk to Daniel.’

  ‘Did it work?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘Wow,’ said Perez. ‘Really?’

  ‘It was him. For sure.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because he knew me and Sara. We talked to him.’

  ‘How? Charlie Charlie only answers yes and no.’

  ‘Sara got a Wee-Jee board.’

  ‘A Ouija board?’

  He nodded. ‘With letters and stuff on it. You hold the wooden thing. The planet.’

  ‘Planchette?’

  ‘That’s right. The planchette.’

  ‘Weren’t you scared?’

  ‘A bit, he said. ‘Especially when Sara put a blindfold on me.’

  ‘Why did she do that?’

  ‘It was Daniel’s idea.’

  ‘Luke!’ Perez turned to see the woman walking quickly across the grass towards them. ‘Luke, you come here right now!’ she shouted.

  ‘I’ve got to go,’ he said, slipping off the swing. ‘That’s my mom.’

  ‘Nice talking to you,’ said Perez.

  Luke ran over the grass to his mother. She put a protective arm around him and shepherded him towards the house.

  Nightingale joined her under the tree and lit a cigarette. ‘Didn’t want to talk. Can’t blame her, I suppose.’

  ‘What about the father?’

  ‘Dosed up on anti-depressants. Any joy with the boy?’

  Mrs Moseby took Luke inside the house and closed the door. ‘He played Charlie Charlie with his sister.’

  ‘Did he now?”

  ‘And she used a Ouija board with him. He says they spoke to their brother, Daniel. He died when he crashed his truck.’

  ‘And what did the dear departed Daniel have to say for himself.’ He blew a tight plume of smoke at the swing.

  ‘Luke doesn’t know, his sister put a blindfold on him.’

  ‘Same as Kate did to her brother. What’s the story with that?’

  Nightingale pulled a face. ‘I’ve never heard of Ouija boards being used for private messages. Usually it’s a group thing.’

  A police car turned off the main road and headed down the drive towards them. ‘This’ll be Sheriff Driscoll now,’ said Perez.

  They went to wait for him. Nightingale flicked away what was left of the cigarette when the Deputy Sheriff parked his patrol car behind a red truck. Nightingale knew it was a sure sign of getting older when the policemen started to look young, but Sheriff Driscoll barely looked old enough to drive. He was tall and thin with baby-smooth skin and thick black hair that kept falling over his eyes. He was wearing a dark brown uniform and had a Glock in a leather holster on his hip and black boots that had been polished until they shone. He looked over at them and his hand moved almost imperceptibly towards his gun.

  Perez did the talking. ‘We’re private detectives in Manhattan investigating a murder that’s similar to your case here,’ she said. ‘Cheryl Perez and Jack Nightingale. Sam Jenner suggested we come over and say hello.’

  ‘That’s very neighbourly of you,’ said Driscoll. His hand moved away ‘But why?’

  ‘There are similarities in the case we’re looking at. The way the body was mutilated. We just thought we could be helpful.’

  ‘What case is that?’ asked the Deputy Sheriff.

  ‘It was in Manhattan,’ said Perez. ‘You might have seen it on the news. Teenager called Matt Donaldson killed a girl called Kate Walker. Similar MO to your murder.’

  ‘She was found in a loft, right? And they have a suspect.’

  Perez nodded.

  ‘So what’s the connection? You have a suspect in that murder, we’re pretty sure we know who killed Sara Moseby.’

  ‘The wounds are similar,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘Similar in what way?’

  ‘A lot of them. Overkill.’

  The deputy nodded. ‘We definitely have that.’

  ‘Can you show us the crime scene?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Nothing much to see,’ said the Sheriff. ‘They took the body to the Medical Examiner’s.’

  ‘Just be useful for a look-see,’ said Nightingale.

  The Sheriff nodded and pointed at a red-painted wooden barn with a steeply sloping roof. ‘Over there,’ he said.

  Perez and Nightingale followed him to the barn. There was a double door one side of which one was ajar. The Sheriff pushed it open further and went inside. Nightingale went after him. Perez stood by the door while Nightingale and the Sheriff went into the middle. It had been used as a storage area. There was a tractor and two quad-bikes and barrels of fuel in one corner, cartons of what looked like spare parts in another. The floor was concrete and was surprisingly clean other than from old oil stains. ‘Her father found the body, here,’ said Driscoll, pointing down at a rust red patch on the concrete. They’d been out all day at a friend’s birthday party. Sara had said she wasn’t feeling well. When they got back at just after eight she wasn’t in her room and her father saw a light on in the barn. He came over, found her dead. He cradled her as he used his cellphone. There was blood all over him by the time we arrived.’

  Nightingale went over to the bloodstain and knelt down. He moved his head from side to side, looking for changes in the surface of the concrete. He could just about make out glistening traces of candle wax. Not much, someone had done a pretty good job of cleaning up.

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Nightingale?’ asked Driscoll.

  ‘It’s a Sherlock Holmes thing he does,’ said Perez.

  Nightingale stood up and walked around the bloodstain. He spotted a white smear and he crouched down and rubbed it with his fingers. Chalk. Just a trace.

  ‘Like I said, we have a suspect,’ said the Deputy Sheriff. ‘Steve Willoughby. He was a friend of the family, lives on the neighbouring farm.’

  ‘You’ve got him in custody?’

  Driscoll shook his head. ‘He’s on the lam. But he’s a kid, he won’t get far.’

  ‘Sara’s brother died recently, is that right?’ asked Nightingale.

  ‘Daniel was killed in a car crash a month back. He’d been drinking, ploughed into a telegraph pole late at night. There was no other car involved, he wasn’t wearing his seat belt. Just bad choices coming home to roost. Why would you ask about him?’

  Nightingale struggled to think of a reply.

  ‘Might be worth seeing if we can find a link between your perp and ours,�
� said Perez. ‘Emails, websites, social media.’

  The Deputy Sheriff nodded. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ he said. ‘What was your perp’s name?’

  ‘Matt Donaldson.’

  ‘They nearly caught the guy, right?’

  ‘Close but no cigar,’ said Perez.

  ‘I suppose Willoughby could be a copycat,’ said Driscoll. ‘We’ll ask him when we bring him in. Any other similarities you can think of between the two cases?’

  ‘Victim was a young girl,’ said Perez. ‘Clothes removed. Girl killed and cut up.’

  Driscoll nodded thoughtfully. ‘Could be a coincidence. But it’s worth seeing if we can link the perps.’ He turned to look at Nightingale. ‘Why were you asking about Daniel?’

  ‘Kate Walker was upset about the death of her boyfriend,’ said Perez. ‘We thought she might have come into contact with her killer during the grieving process.’

  The Deputy continued to stare at Nightingale and Nightingale nodded in agreement. ‘It was just a thought.’

  ‘But this Donaldson guy wasn’t a bereavement councillor or anything like that, he was just a High School student right?’

  ‘I was just looking for connections,’ said Nightingale.

  ‘You say that Donaldson had the girl remove her clothing?’ asked Driscoll.

  ‘Asked her or forced her, we don’t know which,’ said Perez.

  ‘Then maybe it is a copycat,’ said Driscoll. ‘Sara’s clothes were in a neat pile on a bench. We were thinking maybe she’d arranged to meet him for sex and something had gone wrong. An argument, maybe, and then Steve lost it.’ He looked around the barn. ‘Though if it was sex they had planned, you’d expect them to choose a more comfortable place.’

  ‘What about the weapon?’ asked Nightingale. ‘Did he bring it with him?’

  Driscoll pointed at a row of tools on a rack by the door. There were shovels, picks, screwdrivers and several knives and cutting implements. ‘He took a pruning knife from there. We had the DNA and fingerprints analysed and checked against samples from Steve’s bedroom. It’s him.’

  ‘How old is he, this Steve?’

  ‘Eighteen, going on nineteen.’

  ‘And Sara wasn’t in a relationship with him?’