“Unlikely. This warning has been found at the last three crime scenes,” Nikolai replied. “I believe it’s a taunt aimed at the police.”
“Nikolai!” A lanky cop draped in a jacket carved his path across the crime scene. “We discovered a tunnel beneath the foundation with access to this room. It seems someone built this long before the complex rented out apartments.” Vivian looked down at the floorboards, imagining an amorphous shape slinking around with fantasies of carnage. Hungering for new victims to add to its harem…
Vivian leaned groggily against the wall as Nikolai scribbled notes. Something crunched under his toes and he shifted to regard the scrap of paper on the floor.
Diagnosis:
Krista LaCroix suffered suicidal behavior in conjunction with depression. She insists her boyfriend won’t hurt her again and that he has changed. However, she exhibits more bruises each time I see her, and she is gaining weight. Her addiction to lying has progressed to a point where she weaves a web of lies even when she has nothing to gain from them.
“Vivian, come with me. I need to speak with you.” Nikolai put a fatherly hand on her shoulder as he coaxed her through the door. “I think you should leave while the forensics team combs for evidence.”
In other words, so I don’t fuck anything up, Vivian thought.
She watched an evidence collector gather blood samples crusted on the wall, obliterating the message the killer left. He flicked the cotton swab against the plaster and tucked it into a small paper envelope. Nikolai escorted Vivian down the vacant hall, drifting further away from the nightmarish scene.
“We need to discuss what you found today.”
“What more is there to say? You saw what he did back there.”
“But what led you to Grigorshire? How did you reach the outskirts?”
“Why does it matter? You wanted me to find the killer, right?”
“Yes, of course. But it still doesn’t make sense…”
Vivian pursed her lips, not about to expose her “ally” in the metro tunnels. The last thing she needed was Joakim sending her thirteen calla lilies.
Nikolai seized her wrist.
“You look like you’re going to pass out. Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
“No, no, I’m fine…” She sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the wall. The cracks in the plaster seemed to gel together. She could hear the sounds of Grigorshire again; the gurgling walls, the humming radiators, the jutting blades…
“Vivian…” She turned around. The instant she saw the gun in Nikolai’s hand, she tried to scream. His body slammed against hers. She thrashed in his clutches and jabbed him in the stomach with her tiny fist. The next punch glanced off his chin and sent him reeling toward the wall.
“Damn it, Vivian, listen to me! I’m not going to hurt you!” She continued to squirm like a bird beating against its cage. To her surprise, he thrust the gun in her hand.
“You’ve seen what he’s capable of now… This is why I didn’t want to show you the photos. We’re dealing with something far worse than any petty criminal.”
Vivian staggered away from him with a sob for air. The adrenaline was still throbbing through her veins, punching her heart around in a tumultuous fray. Nikolai suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of that same gun, Vivian’s teeth bared in a snarl. The instant shot of adrenaline told him to dodge, but the cock of the hammer riveted him in his steps.
“Let me be clear, Nikolai. I’m only going along for this sick ride to piece my life back together. I don’t care about absurd riddles on the wall, this psycho killer, or why he’s turning women into… that thing! I’m not your pawn to dangle in front of him like some piece of bait. I’m doing this for myself, not for you.”
The gun wavered back and forth in her unsteady grip, leaving Nikolai only guessing the path of the imminent bullet.
Vivian’s ears perked up at the sound of a dozen cops just down the hall. With a flustered sigh, she stowed the gun in her pocket.
“Never scare me like that again,” she growled. The detective acquiesced with a nod.
“Never again.” Vivian held his gaze for a moment longer before marching toward the door. He seized her arm again. “Please take this.”
“What is it?”
He held out an envelope.
“Open it when no one is looking.” She immediately began to tear at the seal when Nikolai’s hand closed around hers.
“I need you, Vivian. This investigation needs you. There’s no telling what we may find here that can ultimately seal this case away. Don’t give up now.”
“Who said anything about giving up?” she said, regaining some of her fire. Nikolai smiled wryly.
“That’s what I like to hear. Remember, don’t open the envelope here.” Nikolai meekly retraced his footsteps toward Krista’s resting place. “Return to the manor and get some rest. You’ve done more than enough today.”
Vivian regarded the padded envelope in her hand. What could it possibly contain? Photos from another crime scene? She tore it open, anxious to know what he had planned for her. For the longest time, she could only stare at the contents. Finally, she thrust her trembling hand inside. Crisp American dollars ruffled between her fingers. There could be no sweeter feeling than this, not even sex.
Two thousand American dollars.
It was a meager sum compared to the long term reward, but it felt like a million dollars to a young woman forced out of college.
In that moment, Vivian contemplated fleeing with the money and purchasing an airplane ticket. However, she knew the authorities would stalk her to the brink of society. Besides, what would she do? Resurrect her debauched career in the streets of Karlovy Vary? Once she was in Nikolai’s spindly clutches, he would never let her go.
She could only force herself to endure. If I find the killer, Nikolai will drop the charges against me and share the $50,000 reward. I can regain my life. I can shoot for the nursing program again and study even harder. I’ll volunteer at hospitals for experience. My parents… will accept me again.
The twinkling fingers of sun beckoned her through the main entrance with the promise of new beginnings, a brighter tomorrow, a painless paradise whispering to her just beyond the warped horizon.
Eyes gleaming with hope and misgiving, she stepped outside Grigorshire Palace into the rain-washed streets.
* * *
The medical examiner’s forceps dropped another hook into the metal tray. Mangled steel basked in a pool of blood like metal glaciers in a crimson sea. The thought of those hooks embedded in living flesh made Nikolai squirm.
Jezebel presided over the autopsy as she had so many times, a medical examiner who never ceased to intrigue Nikolai. With the nonchalance becoming of a politician picking at the bones of society, she retrieved sixty hooks from Krista’s corpse.
“I’m not sure what we’re dealing with now,” Nikolai admitted. “I’ve overseen hundreds of homicides but this is surreal.” Jezebel peered above her glasses, perking up at the sound of fear.
“The victim suffered extensive damage to her tongue, eyelids, phalanges, and labia majora,” she said. “The savagery of the kill has escalated since the last incident. It doesn’t seem to fit his pattern.”
“What makes you think this killer is predictable?”
“Most serial killers adhere to a repeated formula of behavior. They feel a sense of comfort knowing precisely how the situation will unfold, maintaining that omnipresent control, knowing their chances of success.”
Success. Nikolai had never heard success defined so repugnantly. Mutilating innocent women.
“Not to cast doubt on your infallible instincts, but are you certain you’re dealing with the same perpetrator?”
“His signature was scrawled across the crime scene. Literally. A psychiatric diagnosis and the words ‘you cannot hurt me anymore.’ Except this time he smeared the words in blood instead of carving them into the wall.”
The sclerae
in Krista’s eyes were grotesquely red from internal hemorrhaging. Nikolai could almost imagine the scarlet tears sliding down her cheeks just before death bestowed its mercy. Jezebel silently mulled the scenario over in her head, tapping her forceps on the surgical table as an afterthought.
“I will admit, the previous homicides were low key compared to this. I’ve never seen anyone go to such lengths to torture and kill someone. This was executed like a freak experiment, utilizing elements of suspension. He essentially turned her into a marionette.”
“What is suspension?”
“Suspension is a form of body modification. Multiple hooks are inserted in the skin to evenly support a person’s weight. Then the ‘suspendee’ is rigged to the ceiling or an apparatus with wires or a pulley. It requires a shrewd understanding of mathematics and anatomy. Some people engage in suspension to reach a higher state of spiritual being.”
“They meditate?” Nikolai asked incredulously.
“Yes. Some even perform acrobatics while suspended. Others describe it as a stress outlet or a high.”
“That’s sickening… Wouldn’t the skin stretch? How did this thing get started?” Jezebel stripped off her gloves like a second pair of skin, emphasizing the image worming into Nikolai’s mind. The elastic material snapped taut.
“Suspension originated in the Native American Mandan tribe. They used suspension to signify the rite of male passage into adulthood. Large wooden splints would pierce the chest, shoulders and dorsal muscles before the boy is winched by ropes to the ceiling of a hut. Sometimes the skulls of the deceased ancestors were placed on the splints. Once the boy passes out from the pain, he is lowered down to have his left pinky amputated as a sacrifice to the gods.”
“Then he is recognized as a man?”
“Not quite. The boy would run around a ring where the villagers have gathered. They would reach out and seize the wooden splints still embedded in his body and tear them free.”
Nikolai could only blink away his shock.
“Lovely.” He blew out a sigh and focused once more on the woman sprawled on the necropsy table. “So the killer anchored her in place… by her skin?”
“Yes. The skin is surprisingly resilient. What strikes me about this suspension are the unusual locations of the butcher hooks. The killer inserted hooks in her eyelids, strung with microfilament wire to more hooks in the coccyx. There are also hooks in her lips strung with wire to hooks in her genitals. It seems he intended for her to wake up.”
“And tear herself to pieces.”
“Precisely. This killer has been meticulous and calculating in every aspect; sedating her, inserting the hooks, threading the microfilament wire. It must have taken hours.”
“Great, he has a sewing habit,” Nikolai said, glancing down at Krista. Her arm revealed a small lump where a needle likely pierced her. Jezebel brandished a syringe of her own and began to milk blood from one of the femoral veins into a plastic container.
“Have the toxicology reports been finalized for the last victim?”
“Yes, and given the injection site on Krista, we can only assume the killer subjected her to the same drug. The chemical doesn’t compare to any substance I’ve analyzed before. Based on the chemical properties, I’ve ruled it out as anything currently on the market. Mass spectrometry didn’t even lead us anywhere close to a solution. It shares more qualities characteristic of a psychoactive drug, particularly salvia divinorum.”
“Do enlighten me.”
Jezebel slapped a label on the container filled with blood from the heart’s right atrium. It swirled in a tantalizing solution of sodium fluoride.
“It releases chemicals that cross the blood-brain barrier and target the central nervous system. Salvia divinorum, also known as Diviner’s Sage, was thought to be the plant reincarnation of the Virgin Mary among the Mazatec shamans in Mexico. The shamans would ingest salvia leaves to produce visions during spiritual healing. Realistically, salvia could be extracted into a liquid and injected.”
Nikolai didn’t voice the thoughts cycling through his head. He once dealt with a repeat offender who lingered at cyber clubs, slipping designer drugs into unsuspecting women’s drinks before spiriting them away. The case ended with five victims and a copious stash of ecstasy and GHB.
“Deep in thought?” Jezebel quipped.
“This is the same killer, but like you said, he’s escalating. It sounds like he’s becoming more volatile. The time elapsed between killings is rapidly diminishing.”
“At this rate, you’ll find another body in a week.”
Suddenly, the room was doused in darkness and a flash like a gunshot scattered Nikolai’s vision. Grotesque images burned into his retinas. The eerie films were emblazoned against the black void like lightning. Nikolai gawked at the extent of damage inflicted to the skull and pelvis. An icy corona of cyan light suspended above the autopsy room.
“Jesus,” he breathed. “A little warning would have been appreciated.”
“Of course,” Jezebel smiled above her lenses as they reflected the cruel damage applied to the skull. She clipped another film to the light box, illuminating the final tragic moments of Krista’s life. Nikolai devoured the images in a detached manner. The first several years of his career had been medicated with vodka to erase the horrors witnessed in this autopsy room.
Now he could stand before Jezebel with an unflinching demeanor as she unlocked rib cages with pruning shears. At least he thought he could. This killer was beginning to test that wall of indifference he had worked so diligently to construct.
“As you can see, our victim suffered extensive head injuries prior to death,” Jezebel said, indicating the area. Fracture lines spider webbed along the lambdoidal suture at the base of the skull, suggesting all manner of gruesome scenarios for Nikolai’s imagination. He could envision the crushing blow that rained down on her head, rending axons and tearing white matter.
“An acute subdural hematoma is present in the left temporal lobe, where blood coagulated below the dura mater and above the arachnoid membrane. The coagulum was compressing the left cerebral hemisphere. Tearing and widespread hemorrhaging was also noted in the corpus callosum.”
Nikolai remembered watching her shave Krista’s head in search of other bruises left by her assailant. It struck him as surreal watching the glamorous tangles of blonde hair fall to the floor, drenched in blood like a hair dying appointment gone disastrously awry. She had sewn the skull shut after extracting the brain and dumping it in a bucket of formaldehyde solution. After a week of preservation, Jezebel would mount the tissue slices on slides and scan the cells for signs of drug abuse.
“Estimated time of death?”
“Within the last twenty-four hours. A histological analysis of the hematoma will tell me exactly when she was attacked.”
Jezebel clipped another film revealing a pelvis invaded with hooks.
“Under most circumstances, tearing in the vaginal wall would suggest forced intercourse, but I find that scenario unlikely. Vaginal swabs didn’t reveal any presence of semen. The genital trauma was induced by microfilament wires and hooks.”
“Were there any other fractures besides the skull?” Nikolai asked, in no mood to dwell on the sexual aspects.
“No. He seems quite adept at subduing his victims.” Indeed he was. He must have ambushed Krista from behind and stunned her with a blunt object, at which point she became an unwilling participant in his torture escapade.
“May I ask you a question, Nikolai?” Jezebel chirped, jolting him from his thoughts.
“Yes?”
“What did you see when you arrived at the crime scene?” The absurdity of the question evoked a scoff from Nikolai.
“I saw a terrified girl barely old enough to live on her own, hanging from the ceiling by butcher hooks. I saw premeditation, sadism, and a level of cruelty that defies human conscience.”
Jezebel’s lips curved into a supremely wicked smile.
“Always s
tating the obvious. I thought you might miss it.” She paced across the morgue with cat-like grace, savoring hidden knowledge. “The killer positioned the victim like a cross, possibly symbolic of punishing her for her sins.”
“What sins?”
“Only the killer knows.” Silence festered in the autopsy room. Nikolai dipped his gaze toward the body and studied her ghostly expression. What horrible secrets lie behind that face? he wondered. What did you do to deserve this?
“See if you can find any fingerprints or fibers…” he murmured.
“Before you leave, I uncovered something else at the crime scene.”
“What?”
“The message ‘You cannot hurt me anymore.’ It doesn’t match the blood of the victim.” The implications silenced Nikolai. Was the killer keeping another victim alive? But for what purpose?
He had a sickening feeling he would find out soon enough.
* * *
Vivian clutched the balcony rail and squeezed her eyes shut. The image flashed into her mind like an ebbing and flowing tide.
She could picture a gigantic spider cocooning a woman in its twisted fantasy, rigging the hooks just so on pipes, tenderly sliding the twine on the fixing points.
Like a puppet he could control.
Perhaps he was manipulating the police, too, demonstrating his absolute control over their feeble attempts to rein in his homicidal rampage.
“This has to be a dream. I’m not Red Widow,” she chanted, trying once again to deny her fate. She quickly swallowed that sense of self-defeat, refusing to label herself a victim of unfortunate circumstances. She would never resign herself to this shadow of an existence, always teetering on the verge of self-doubt and waiting for life to unfold as planned. She would overcome this predicament one way or another and seize the future she deserved. In so many ways, the future felt like a defunct machine, trapping her in an endless cycle of discontent and whimsical fantasies.
Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) Page 7
