by David Salkin
• 68 • hate it here. Was wondering if you had any luck with your missing person and I didn’t want to bother you on your cell. Give me a call on my cell if anything breaks. Later.”
The second message was from the medical examiner that had been studying the bones they found in the furnace” “Sergeant Ruiz, this is Doctor Valesi again. When you have some time, give me a call or stop by.”
The third message was from his new friend Tim over in the sixth: “Hey, Pisano, its Rosetto. I had something come in last night. Give me a call on my cell ASAP. Ciao, baby.”
Roy decided to call the doc first, since he might have something new to pass along to the captain. The doc insisted that he come down in person, so Roy hung up and headed down to the basement. He hated it down there.
“Whatcha got?” he asked as he walked in. The doctor was standing over a gurney with a cadaver on it, and Doctor Valesi covered it up with the green sheet.
“This way,” he said, walking over to the metal drawers that held bodies. He pulled open a drawer and unzipped a cold black plastic body bag. Inside was a very dead looking female corpse. “This is another Jane Doe. She was found in the park about two months ago. We’re getting ready to release the body for burial as a Jane Doe because we have no leads on her identification. No prints in the system, no dental records, nothing. She may have been an illegal immigrant. She looks Hispanic, so that’s my best guess as to why we’ve got nothing on her. She had good teeth, unfortunately, so there aren’t any cheap fillings to help me with my theory, but that’s my best guess. Mexican Illegal. Maybe twenty years old. Anyway, there was no sexual assault. But death was by exsanguination. And she had teeth marks on her femur like your
70 • David M. Salkin
furnace victims.” He made a scowl. Roy looked up at the doctor. “Wait a minute. You’re telling me this lady bled to death because something bit her?”
“I know, it sounds nuts. Quite honestly, Doctor Rogers and I discussed her in detail. Neither one of us has any real theories. There were no animal hairs anywhere. She had four other bite marks on her body consistent with a large predator of some type, but we have no idea what kind. We were keeping it quiet to avoid a panic in the park, but animal control was notified and they were patrolling, looking for large dogs or even a wolf. Hell, it could have been a tiger for all I know”
Roy folded his arms across his chest. “Dogs don’t stuff people in furnaces, doc.”
“I hear ya’. I can only tell you what I see. And in this case, what I see makes no sense, and I have nowhere to go with this. One of the gals up in missing persons spent three weeks on this poor woman and came up empty. We didn’t know if it was a homicide or an animal attack. It wasn’t until I matched the bite pattern to the bones from the furnace that I was sure it was the same animal.”
“That’s 100%?”
“Yup. Same bite,” said the doctor.
Roy watched the doc zip up the bag. “Don’t dispose of the body yet, okay? She’ll keep for a while longer?”
“Yeah. We’ll keep her on ice for you, but I am eventually gonna’ need the space. This is a popular place, ya’ know?”
“So I hear. Okay, thanks, doc. I’ll talk to Captain Ammiano and get back to you.”
Roy walked upstairs and went outside for some fresh air. He hated dead bodies, and knowing that it had been eaten by a dog—the same dog that some other sick bastard had used on three other victims was just too much. His cell phone rang.
“Ruiz,” he said, walking out of the building.
“Hey, Pisano, you get my message?”
“Hey Tim. You were next on my list. I just came from the morgue. Got another DB with bite marks.”
“Yeah, well so do I. And this one was in her apartment.”
“Yeah? You got an ID? Witnesses?”
“We’re working it now. I’ve ID’ed the girl. We’re talking to her roommate who found her right now. That girl is going to need therapy for a while. Come over to the Six and I’ll bring you over. Do
not eat before you come.”
“Oh shit,” said Roy. “Not again.”
He walked to the underground and hopped in his cruiser, heading quickly downtown.
Thirteen
VWX
The Village
Roy parked in the police garage and walked back up to find Tim. He wasn’t hard to spot, right out in front of the precinct, on his cell phone drinking coffee. He waved his coffee at Roy when he spotted him and finished his call. Tim was a huge man. He stood about six feet tall, but was easily over three hundred and twenty-five pounds. He had thinning black hair that was slicked back over his head, and there was a handsome, gentle face under the extra chins and cheeks.
“Come on. I think we have a major break in the case.” “What have you got?” asked Roy, not sure he wanted to know. “We can walk over. Son of a bitch was real close this time.” They
walked as Tim filled him in. “In all the missing persons files I’ve worked, we’ve hit dead ends. Any bodies we have followed up on, Jane
• 72 • Doe cases that had weird causes of death, have also been dead ends. But this time, I’ve got something fucked up and no one is going to tell me otherwise.” He stopped walking and turned to Roy, placing his large paw on Roy’s shoulder. “Sergeant Ruiz, I work in Greenwich Village. I have some of the most fucked up characters on the planet in a few city blocks here, and in New York City, that’s saying something. But this shit? This takes the cake.”
“What happened?” asked Roy tentatively. “I don’t need a doctor to tell me the COD on this one. Some mutherfucker ate this chick.”
Roy stopped in tracks. “Ate her?”
“Well, not the whole body. But it was like an animal was in there eating parts of her and, well…”
“What?”
“He drank her fucking blood!”
“He what?” asked Roy, wide eyed.
“There is not a drop of blood left in that woman’s body up there. Oh, and she was into some Goth shit, so don’t let that throw you off. Most of it is makeup.”
“Goth shit?” asked Roy
“You gotta’ come down to the Village more often, my friend. ‘Goth’, as in men and women that walk around dressed like they’re dead. Black lipstick, nails, piercings, wild hair—you know…”
“I thought that was ‘punk rock’?” asked Sgt. Ruiz.
“Holy shit, Roy. Get out from behind the desk, will ya? Punk went out in the eighties. Follow me.”
The two of them walked up a flight of stairs to the second floor of a cheap apartment building. It was filthy outside, and not much better looking inside the hallway. They entered the crime scene, and the apartment itself, while tiny, was fairly neat. Two officers were inside finishing pictures and prints.
“You move her?” asked Tim.
“No, sir!” said an officer.
“Good. Roy, take a look.”
Roy stepped into the tiny bedroom and cringed. A woman, white as a ghost, was spread wide on a bed. There were huge gaping wounds on her inner thighs, breasts, and throat. Her throat was ripped open so wide, Roy could see inside it.
“Oh, Jesus,” he said, feeling sick. Then added to no one in particular, “I know—he isn’t a suspect.”
“Whatever did this to her went right for the arteries in her crotch and neck. Carotid and femoral. I’m no doctor, but I have enough first aid training to know that much. There is very little blood anywhere in this room, and look at her wounds. This place should be a swimming pool. And judging by her face, I’d have to say she was alive when this happened.”
It was true. Roy looked at her face, and makeup or not, her expression was frozen in absolute terror. Her eyes were wide open, as well as her mouth. It looked like she was still screaming.
“How much you want to bet the bites match your furnace victims?”
“And the chick in the morgue.”
“Yeah, you never told me—what’s the deal with her?”
�
��She’s a Jane Doe. Maybe an illegal immigrant. A total dead end. But she’s been down in the morgue for weeks. The doc said they thought she was attacked by a dog or something in Central Park. Truthfully, I think they didn’t have a clue, and since no one was asking about her, they were just going to put her in the “I have no fucking idea file’ and move on. When Doc Valesi saw the bite marks on the furnace victims, it rang a bell and he called me on this DB down in the fridge.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” said Tim under his breath. “We’ve got some lunatic that thinks he’s a fucking werewolf running around the city eating people.”
“Let’s hope the roommate can give us something. And hey—thanks for calling me on this.”
Tim opened his arms. “Hey, Paisan! We’re in this together, right?”
“Yeah. And at least if this thing attacks me when I’m with you, he’ll go for you. You’re a bigger meal.”
“Thanks a fucking lot. And I thought we were friends.”
· · ·
Roy got back to the Midtown North Precinct after four-thirty. By the time he got there, his light was blinking on his phone again. He sat down at his desk and rubbed his face. It had been a seriously messed up day, and it was only just starting. The message was Captain Ammiano, and Roy called him back and gave him every detail of what had happened thus far.
“Jesus, Roy. I can’t leave the city for two days and you got werewolves and shit running around the city?”
“It’s not funny, man. I’m tellin’ ya’, this is not a normal crime scene.”
“When did you ever see a ‘normal’ homicide?” asked the captain.
“I’m serious, captain. Tim—the cop in Six, he and I are matching up some cases, and I swear, this whack-job has been at this a long time. I think we have a serial killer running around the Apple that makes Dahmer and Manson look like choirboys.”
The captain let out a long sigh. “Okay, I’ll be in tomorrow.”
“I thought you were out for two weeks?”
“Yeah, well…couple of days of fishing and drinking beer upstate was fine, but it’s so fucking quiet up here I’m gonna’ lose my mind. I’ll come down and help find your lunatic. And don’t say serial killer to anyone else, okay?”
“Yeah, okay. Thanks, cap. Call me when you get back.”
Roy called Tim, who answered quickly.
“Hey, Tim, it’s Roy. My captain is coming back from vacation early to help with this case. I am going to grab my lieutenant as soon as I get off the phone with you. What say we have a meeting, and we bring all of the missing persons cases and unsolved homicides or Doe cases with us? Maybe try and map this thing out.”
“I’m way ahead of ya’, Paisano. I had one of my guys spend an entire day with a city map pushing color-coded thumbtacks. The attacks, the missing persons last known addeys, recovered DB’s that were still open files—all of this shit is totally random. But I did have something really weird come up today. I am thinking it has to be a mistake, but this case is so bizarre already, that who knows?”
“Whatcha’ got?” asked Roy.
“Well, we got some prints in the apartment that didn’t match the two girls or the roommate’s boyfriend. Truthfully, there were a lot of prints in there, and from what the roommate says, there were guys in and out of her roommate’s place all the time. She was into some kinky shit. We found a bag of sex toys in her room that made me blush. Hell, I don’t even know what some of the stuff is used for…”
“And you told me I should get out more?” joked Roy.
“Really. Anyway, this chick liked it rough I guess, and apparently had plenty of takers on her offers. There were no less than thirty sets of prints in there. However…” he paused. “We did get a perfect print in the girl’s blood off of the counter near the front door.”
“You guys work fast,” said Roy, impressed with what he was hearing so far. Unlike television shows that solved cases in thirty minutes with forensics that gave instant information, in the real world, evidence took weeks or months.
“My little cousin works in the lab. I told him this was a possible serial killer and pushed it way to the top of the pile.”
“Your little cousin? Like under three hundred?”
“Fuck you very much. No, like he’s twenty-seven and smart as hell. He did the print work himself, and the kid is very thorough and very good, which is why I am so confused about this.”
“About what?”
“That print appeared at another unsolved homicide.”
“Yeah? That’s great! Our first real lead!” said Roy with sudden energy.
“Not so great. That case is from 1959.”
Roy sat and let that sink in. He did the math. A murder case that was fifty-two years old. “So our killer is like, seventy years old?”
“Well, unless he started as a very young teenager, he’s at least sixtyfive.”
“You’re right, that is weird. A sixty-five or seventy year old man is going to have to be in pretty good shape to be attacking young women and carrying bodies around.”
“Unless he has help,” said Tim, thinking out loud.
“Yeah, along with his pet tiger or wolf or whatever the fuck he walks around with. How the hell could anyone not see some crazy old guy with a fucking lion on a leash?”
“New York City, baby. Who knows? But this case is getting weirder by the minute. Tell you what—when your captain gets back, you call me, or have him call me. I want to put together a task force on this right away. I am speaking to the chief later today, and I am using the term ‘serial killer’ when I see him. He’s gonna’ go ape-shit, but I don’t care. I am convinced this shit is all related. Jesus, Roy—what if this guy really has been at this since 1959?”
What if he had been at it since 1806?...
Fourteen
VWX
Adam
Adam awoke nude, lying on top of a fake fur coat that smelled like cigarette smoke, cheap perfume, and spilled alcohol. These were smells he didn’t normally enjoy, but knowing it came from his last kill made him want to roll around in it the way a dog rolls in the grass, experiencing every smell. He could still feel her warmth. Her blood still warmed his beating heart. He inhaled the coat deeply and felt a sexual urge between his legs. It had been decades since he had fornicated, and until seeing Sara, had never actually missed it, that urge having been replaced by the lust for blood that was so much more powerful. He rolled on his stomach and rubbed himself against the coat, breathing it in as he looked at the black and white picture in his head—that woman, so pale and white, with her black lipstick and makeup and hair…such
• 79 • a beautiful image. He wished had taken a picture and snuck it into the Gellman exhibit. Perhaps no one would even notice it wasn’t Gellman’s herself. He wished he could have shown Sara. He was unconsciously humping the coat as he thought of her, still feeling warm and satisfied after such a lovely meal.
He drifted in and out of his aroused state, between sleep and dreams and flashbacks of his ancient life. He remembered another woman he found interesting back in France. How long ago was it now? He remembered her beautiful dress, the bright colors, her strong perfume and body odors. They didn’t bathe nearly as much back in those days as they did today, and a human body seemed much more intoxicating back then, particularly the French whores who would have sex several times an evening for days at a time between baths. That one young woman—a girl, really, Renee—she had been beautiful. She had approached Adam; he was still Olmer then, near the docks. Olmer had decided to travel to America at the time, ahh—he remembered, it must have been back in 1861 or so when the Americans were still slaughtering each other. It was at that time, when he was living near the seaport at Normandy, that he met Renee.
That first time he met her came right after he had lost control and let the animal out. He had eaten and drunk four large sailors the evening before, and then tossed their remains to the crabs at the wharf. That was the first time he had ever tested his strength to
such a degree. He was in a dark mood, having seen how much fun the sailors seemed to be having drinking and eating and fornicating with the French whores, and he was an outsider looking in. The more he saw, the louder the music became, and the more he could hear the blood pumping in the strong mens’ hearts. He picked a fight with a group of drunken sailors outside near one of the boats. It was so late that night that no one else was around. He goaded them into attacking him, and then proceeded to tear all four strong men apart. He ate and drank them until he was so full he was vomiting blood back up, only to drink more and rip off huge chunks of flesh. He wanted so much to be able to drink in the bar—to eat a steak from an animal—have sex with a beautiful woman and sleep with her afterwards. He was angry.
After he had eaten himself to nausea, he dropped the bodies into the water and returned home to sleep it off. The next evening, he awoke feeling stronger and more alive than ever before in his afterlife. He followed the sound of music from his small room at an inn back to the pubs along the water, and that was where he saw Renee. She was so young and innocent looking. A fresh faced child beneath the heavy whorish makeup and large white wig worn by women in her trade. He approached her and smiled, and she put her arms around his neck and kissed him before even saying hello. He could taste wine on her lips, and it smelled pleasant. He breathed her in, smelling sex and alcohol and sweat, not all of it hers. She was intoxicating to him, and her young clear voice was musical. Perhaps it was because of the energy he felt from such a large feast the night before, the fact that he couldn’t possibly eat or drink her, that he felt something “different” with her.
He listened to her flirt and let her kiss his face and neck, until she finally asked him if he’d like a fuck. He smiled and asked her to join him back at his room. She pouted and explained she wouldn’t be allowed at any “proper” inn, but that she had a room upstairs in the pub “just for their purposes”. He let her lead him up the stairs, where she stopped only once to ask him if he had five francs. He pulled out twenty and pressed them into her hand, and her smile was contagious.
