by Chris Mooney
‘Circle jerk,’ Williams repeated flatly.
‘They taught us to speak that way at Harvard. Part of the curriculum.’
Williams cracked a smile and then it suddenly died on his lips. He had withdrawn his attention again.
He inhaled deeply and visibly stiffened.
‘There’s something I need to tell you,’ he said.
37
Darby speared the last piece of steak on her fork, wondering if Ray Williams was going to tell her about the pictures he’d been accused of taking inside the Connelly house.
‘Teddy and his people are going to be a permanent fixture in our lives from now on,’ Williams said.
‘I kind of got that impression when Lancaster asked Laurie Richards to book him a few rooms. What’s going on?’
Williams scratched the corner of his mouth. The air blowing inside the cruiser was cool and smelled of pine and wood smoke from a nearby fire.
‘Robinson tell you that those pictures of you were also sent to four uniforms who were out on patrol this morning?’
Darby nodded. ‘He said you went out to meet them, to make sure they deleted the photos from their phones,’ she said. ‘Thank you for that, by the way.’
‘You’re welcome. One of the guys I met after the debrief, Ricky Samuels, told me he saw a Brewster crime scene van parked in the driveway of the Downes house at about nine or so. I drove over to the house but the van wasn’t there. No one was.
‘I went back to the station and told the chief. Robinson got on the horn and called the Brewster sheriff, guy by the name of Patterson. He told Robinson he thought it might be a good idea to have a second set of eyes go through the house. Form a joint task force that will take a good, hard look at –’
‘The feds are already handling the evidence,’ Darby said.
‘Robinson mentioned that.’
‘Their Denver office is sending back the two agents with forensics experience, along with the mobile lab.’
‘This isn’t Boston. Here, the sheriff’s office has more power than a local police precinct.’
‘You telling me this bozo sheriff believes he’s got people who are better equipped and more experienced than those employed at the federal lab?’
‘I’m saying there’s a movement afoot to hand over the reins of the Red Hill Ripper investigation to Teddy after what happened last night at the Downes house.’
‘That bullshit story about the patrolman, what’s-his-name, Nelson, taking pictures inside the house?’
Williams sighed, like he was about to relieve himself of a great burden.
‘There might be some truth to it,’ he said.
Darby tossed her fork inside the container, closed the lid and gave him her full attention.
‘The previous victims, the Connelly family,’ Williams said. ‘The state handled the crime scene like all the others. Only the photographer they had on call that night, a guy who has since been fired – he was doing a rather shoddy job, in my opinion. I think he might’ve been shitfaced – the guy reeked of booze. It was out of my control, but that didn’t mean I had to take a back seat and let him do a shit job either. So I decided to take my own pictures. Only I made a mistake.’
Then his face contorted in shame and embarrassment. ‘It was late and I was exhausted. Instead of heading back to the station and getting the digital camera, or going out and buying a disposable one, I used my cell phone.’ He gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles looked like white moons. ‘Some of the pictures I took? They wound up on Crime & Punishment. It’s a website and –’
‘I know what it is,’ Darby said. ‘How does this connect back to Nelson?’
‘He was the first responding officer at the crime scene, and he saw me using my cell to take pictures. The following morning, I’d gone off to a budget meeting. I left my cell on my desk, maybe in my coat pocket. I can’t remember. But I knew I had it when I went into the office that morning.
‘When I came back from the meeting, I couldn’t find my phone. A couple of people said they saw Nelson in my office right after I’d left. He didn’t deny it – he’d gone in there to drop off a report – but he said he didn’t know anything about my cell. The pictures were on the website the next day. Guess who got caught holding the shit-end of the stick?’
‘You have any proof he took your phone?’ Darby asked.
‘Who else could it have been? He was the only one who knew I’d taken those pictures on my cell, and I sure as hell didn’t do it.’
‘Okay.’
‘IAD cleared me. I agreed to take a poly. Passed it with flying colours.’
Darby was surprised a station as small as Red Hill had their own Internal Affairs Department. ‘And Nelson?’
‘He refused.’ Williams smiled in sour triumph. ‘The reporter who posted the pictures wouldn’t give up his source, naturally, and when IAD couldn’t link the pictures back to either of us, the case hit a dead end. Nelson and I both got a five-day suspension without pay and a letter of reprimand in our jackets.’
Darby stared out the window, the hum of the car tyres against the road and the wind blasting through her window vibrating against her ears. The sky was blue and cloudless, the air comfortably cool, like early autumn; it was hard to believe that a major snowstorm would roll in later today. She wondered what progress Hoder was making on their plan.
‘I’m telling you the truth,’ Williams said.
Darby heard a lot of heat in his voice. She rolled her head to him and saw his anger rising and falling, searching for an appropriate target.
‘I believe you,’ she said.
‘Really? ’Cause your expression says otherwise.’
‘If you’re looking for absolution for something, Ray, I’m not wearing the right collar.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Find someone else to be your whipping post.’
Williams’s face burned, the skin as thin as paper, as if he’d been slapped. Then he sighed deeply, and the heat left his face and eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t mean to take this out on you. When the subject of Teddy comes up, when he comes around here … Red Hill’s too small to have its own IAD, so any conduct and personnel problems get kicked to Brewster. Teddy personally spearheaded my investigation. He acted like a kid who had just got his favourite toy for Christmas. When I passed the poly, the son of a bitch wouldn’t let it go. He got off on ramming a two-by-four up my ass on a daily basis. The guy missed his calling as a plantation overseer.’
‘Forget Lancaster,’ Darby said. ‘Don’t let him bait you, he’s not worth it.’
Little did she know she was about to eat her own words.
38
The Brewster County Coroner’s Office serviced Red Hill and three other surrounding towns. Built during the Hoover administration, the old building contained a single autopsy suite that was nearly identical to just about every one Darby had visited over the course of her career: brick-red tile floors and grim white-painted walls; damp rubber mats arranged around an elevated steel surgical table, stainless-steel everywhere.
At 400 square feet, the autopsy room felt too small to accommodate her, Ray Williams and the coroner, Dr Felicia Gonzalez, a tiny woman with black hair and small, almost childlike fingers. She was slipping into a pair of fresh scrubs when they entered.
‘Where should I set up?’ Darby asked after the introductions were over.
Gonzalez opened her mouth to speak but no sound came out. She eyed Darby’s rolling forensics kit, then looked at Williams like he was a Martian who had suddenly materialized out of thin air.
‘We’re here for the Downes autopsies,’ he said.
‘We did those first thing this morning,’ Gonzalez replied.
Darby felt the air rush out of her lungs. The room went out of focus for a moment and the only sounds she heard were the insect-like hum of the fluorescent tube lights and water dripping from a nearby faucet.
‘Harr
y came to see me personally,’ Gonzalez said, perplexed. ‘He moved the whole schedule around for you, Ray.’
‘For me?’ Williams blinked like a bright light had suddenly and without warning exploded in his face.
‘Didn’t he tell you?’
Williams spoke slowly, as if each word were a red-hot coal he had to pick up with his bare hands. ‘If he had told me, Felicia, do you think I’d be standing here right now with my dick in my hand?’
The woman stiffened at the word ‘dick’, hit with a sudden prudish streak. ‘You don’t have to use that type of lang–’
‘Who collected the evidence?’
‘Who do you think? Brewster forensics, the same people who did the other victims.’
Williams scratched the corner of his eye, his face crimson. He kept swallowing, his jaw muscles bunching like walnuts.
Gonzalez waved her hands in defiant surrender. ‘Don’t take this out on me, Ray. You have an issue with Harry, take it up with him.’
‘I plan on it.’
Then Williams pushed open the swinging door and bolted into the hallway.
Darby stared at the autopsy table and thought about the nameless and faceless forensics people from Brewster who had collected the victims’ clothing and examined their bodies prior to the autopsy. She had no idea of their collective experience, or their level of commitment, or the type of equipment and chemicals they had used. And she had been denied the chance to look over everything herself; all she could think about was the possibility of some missed or overlooked piece of evidence, some key piece that had been washed down the drain at the base of the stainless-steel table.
Gonzalez got busy, dressing. When she spoke, her voice suddenly seemed loud in the cold room. ‘I thought he’d been told. Ray.’
‘Who’s Harry?’
‘The chief medical examiner, Harry Stein. The man responsible for this lovely establishment.’ Then: ‘I’m sorry your time was wasted.’
A rumbling, grinding sound filled the room. Then it stopped and the door to an outdated freight elevator opened, revealing a morgue attendant and a rolling cart with a body bag on top. They were barely able to fit inside the tight space.
‘Where are the bodies now?’ Darby asked.
‘Dunnigan & Sweet Funeral Home in Red Hill,’ Gonzalez replied.
‘I’d like to read your report and see the pictures.’
‘I’ll let Ray know when I’ve finished my report.’
‘And when do you think that might be?’
Gonzalez made no effort to hide her displeasure. ‘When I get a moment to breathe,’ she said curtly. ‘We’re backed up, in case you haven’t noticed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
The door swung open and Theodore Lancaster stepped into the room.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he said, and moved to the corner of the room where the disposable scrubs, masks and gloves were kept. ‘Who do we have up first?’
‘The Downes autopsies were done this morning,’ Darby said. ‘But you already knew that, didn’t you?’
Lancaster put on a decent show of appearing shocked. But he couldn’t hide the confidence and self-satisfaction exuding from his pores and posture.
‘This is the first time I’m hearing about it, swear to God.’ He looked at the body being lifted on to the table, an older woman with saggy breasts and thick hips and legs dimpled with cellulite, and Darby heard a ripping sound in her head, like cloth tearing, and in her mind’s eye she pictured a sutured wound, the incision disturbed and bleeding, infected.
He isn’t worth it, Darby thought.
Lancaster turned to her and said, ‘You mean to tell me I drove all the way here for nothing?’
Darby moved to her rolling kit. As she leaned forward to grab the handle, she saw Lancaster’s reflection in the glass cabinet directly in front of her. He stood a couple of feet away, looking at her backside and her legs, comparing what he saw now to the photographs of her stored in his mind. His mouth parted slightly and his eyes lit up with pleasure as his imagination conjured up all sorts of lascivious images.
Then he blinked and pushed them back into hiding. He stepped behind her and put a hand on her shoulder when she straightened. He moved his head closer to hers, and she heard a wet click in his throat.
‘Those hotel shots of you,’ he whispered against her ear, his breath hot and rank with cigarettes and coffee. ‘Body like yours, you’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. You shouldn’t let it go to waste either.’
Lancaster winked at her. When he wet his lips, Darby spun around and raked him with her elbow so hard blood and spittle flew from his mouth and stained the wall and shelves holding the morgue clothing. He staggered against the autopsy table and gripped its edge with both hands to keep from falling. She drove a fist into his kidney, and his back arched like he’d been jolted with electricity, and when he turned she jabbed him with her left and broke his nose, and then she followed it with a right cross that slammed into his left eye and knocked him against the naked corpse lying on the stainless-steel table.
‘Stop,’ Dr Gonzalez shrieked. The male morgue attendant stood frozen, his face white with shock. ‘Stop it right now!’
Darby hit Lancaster again, a solid blow to the kidneys. A girlish scream roared past his lips, and as she cocked back her fist to hit him again the male morgue attendant grabbed her in a bear hug. She didn’t try to break free, and she didn’t fight him when he started dragging her towards the door.
Lancaster gripped the edge of the autopsy table and staggered to his feet. Blood as bright as paint had pooled on the floor. As she was ushered into the hallway, Darby saw Lancaster turn to her, blood roaring from his broken nose, and just before the door shut he smiled, his teeth pink and his eyes burning with pleasure and satisfaction.
39
Jackson Cooper stood with Terry Hoder in the squad room. The front desks and chairs had been moved in order to make room for the TV camera and lighting equipment.
A reporter from the local paper, the Red Hill Evening Item, and a TV cameraman were inside the police chief’s office, waiting for Darby to arrive. After Hoder had explained the plan he and Darby had cooked up to trap the Red Hill Ripper, Coop pulled Hoder into the squad room to talk privately.
‘This is stupid and dangerous and you know it,’ Coop said.
Hoder sat on top of a desk, gripping it with both hands. His face was haggard and his colouring was off. He had spent the last three hours working and fine-tuning the list of questions the reporter would ask Darby. Hoder had also scripted her answers. The reporter had agreed to let Hoder script the video interview and edit the article in exchange for exclusives with Darby, Hoder and Ray Williams after the Red Hill Ripper was in custody.
Before the video was posted on the home page of the newspaper’s website, it would be emailed to Hoder’s point man at the Denver Regional Computer Forensics Laboratory. There, the Nerd Herd, as they called themselves, would insert a hidden program into the video, which would allow them to trace anyone who clicked on it. Both Darby and Hoder believed the Red Hill Ripper was an extreme narcissist who religiously followed – and possibly collected – his own press clippings. The killer, they believed, wouldn’t be able to resist watching the video. In order for the trace to work, the person had to watch the video for at least a couple of minutes.
‘Let Williams do the interview,’ Coop said. ‘He’s head of the task force.’
‘The Red Hill Ripper isn’t interested in or threatened by Ray Williams.’ Then Hoder’s eyes narrowed, like something of interest had come into his vision. ‘Or me, for that matter.’
Coop hated the way the guy seemed to read minds.
‘Right now this creep is looking for a way to get to her. He wants things to be all close and personal, remember?’
‘The interview was her idea,’ Hoder said. ‘I voiced my reservations.’
‘But you didn’t say no, did you? You could’ve put a stop to this, and you didn’t.’
‘I und
erstand your objections. It’s difficult to put someone you’re deeply in love with in harm’s way.’
Coop looked at him sharply. Hoder craned his head and stared at the acoustic ceiling tiles.
Coop moved closer. ‘You voiced your reservations, as you so eloquently put it, so if something happens to Darby you can soothe your conscience by saying, “Hey, everyone, I told her not to do this.” And since she’s not a federal agent, if something happens to her, there won’t be any blowback on you or on the Bureau. Am I getting warm, Terry? No, don’t answer. It’s written all over your face.’
Hoder sighed. He looked and sounded incredibly tired and bored, as if he’d been asked to explain the meaning of life to a kitten.
‘What would you suggest I do?’
‘Put a stop to this,’ Coop said, irritated by the man’s soft drawl and laconic replies.
‘Again, this was her idea. She insisted on doing it and –’
‘And you’re going along with it because, like her, you’ve developed a major hard-on for this nut-job. Only your reasons are about your legacy. You’re set to retire next year, and this little experiment you dreamed up – a rolling forensics unit full of specialists with direct access to our lab – will prove your point to the director if you find the Red Hill Ripper. That’s what this entire thing is about, Terry. Preserving your legacy.’
‘All due respect, you’re out of line.’
‘Cut the bullshit. We both know why you’re scripting this video.’
‘Darby will be well insulated. He won’t get to her.’
‘You’re deliberately lighting a fire under this guy’s ass. Why not let him go on thinking he’s intellectually superior to us while we work the evidence?’
‘Is there some new piece of evidence I don’t know about?’
‘We’re still examining the blood we found. And don’t forget about the plastic fingerprint. We’re waiting on that.’
