Eating Crow (The Birdman Series Book 1)
Page 9
Victoria paused to gather up her thoughts, scattered like dangerous shards of glass strewn about a crime scene. “I’d been following up on some different leads during the day.”
For a moment, she longed for the uncomfortable scrutiny of the doctor’s office; anywhere but here. “I had questions about the evidence that had been found on Abby Rushton. The hairs that matched with the DNA from Malcolm Carter, which we had on file. I went down to the Medical Examiner’s office—Dr. Guardiola—and spoke with him about my misgivings.”
“Can you state what your misgivings with the DNA evidence were?”
Victoria shifted in her seat. Her behind was starting to go numb already. Her ass was contributing more padding than the chair designer had seen fit to add.
“The hairs we retrieved were extremely crumpled.” Not really the word for the way they were disturbingly bent and broken, but they were all her tired mind could produce. “I was concerned that the lack of any other forensic residue from the killer meant he’d swept the victim clean, so the hair could have been planted. I explained my concerns to Dr. Guardiola. He confirmed there was a likelihood that the hair was from a hairbrush, rather than falling naturally from a head.”
For likelihood read possibility. Accompanied by a stern lecture on why that was not his finding.
“Did Dr. Guardiola change his submitted report to reflect this new stance?”
Victoria tapped her fingers on the table. She desperately wanted to dig her nails into the irritated patch of eczema on her wrist, but she’d slathered the 2% steroid cream over it as soon as she walked out of the drugstore. If she could hold off for another hour or so, that intense itch would start to fade. Another day or two and it may even start to heal.
“There wasn’t time.”
Another way of framing, Dr. Guardiola wouldn’t.
“There was other evidence pointing away from Malcolm Carter that I needed to investigate, and at the time we usually would have requested an amended report, the case was closed.”
“What other evidence?”
Victoria shifted in her seat again. The aching numbness switched from her left buttock to her right.
“We understood from the pattern of attacks that the perpetrator was contacting the victims before the attack. That pretty much ruled out Malcolm Carter from the get-go. There were also phone calls to one specific number that formed a pattern.”
There were two. One by a victim. One by lonely Miranda, a girl who’d already retracted her allegation once.
“I followed up on the phone calls and discovered they’d all been made to the same helpline, run from a phone center downtown. When I visited the center, I worked with the floor manager there, and we tracked down even more calls.”
One more. For a total of three.
“They’d all been handled by the same operator. Gregory Mancini.”
There was a dangerous hiss from his mother, but Victoria didn’t turn. She’d already seen Mrs. Mancini’s expression, curdled with anger. To have someone hating her so strongly, so viciously, made Victoria feel sick.
As a police officer, she’d come across a lot of people who held no regard for her job, her career. But personal, targeted hatred was something she’d so far managed to avoid. Even the offenders she’d locked away over the years seemed to take it with a pinch of salt. C’est la vie.
“Once I had a name, I reported into my Captain and then went to the suspect’s house to keep tabs on him. Abby Rushton had been killed just a day earlier, so no one was expecting any activity. Prior to Star Harris, the period between victims had never been less than four months apart.”
Mr. Jackson flipped a page in his legal pad, referring to an earlier scribble. Victoria wondered who’d already been forced through this process. How many would still be put through the ringer when she was finished.
“So, no one thought there would be an attack? Why did you go to Gregory Mancini’s house, then?”
Illicitly listening to a phone call I shouldn’t have heard.
“I wanted to see where he lived. Often you can tell a lot about a suspect by seeing where they choose to live, choose to work. The friends they choose to keep.”
Mr. Jackson flipped back to the current page and nodded at her. Not in agreement, just to continue.
“While I was outside waiting, the suspect exited the property and headed toward Arrowhead Park. I followed him on foot to see where he went.”
“If you didn’t suspect an attack was imminent, why did you follow Gregory Mancini?”
Because I heard him make a date with a pregnant teenage girl.
“He was wearing gloves,” she said. When Mr. Jackson face twisted with confusion, Victoria opened her mouth to beat him to the chase. “It was fall, but it wasn’t cold. Warmer out than it was the last month or so. There was no reason to be wearing gloves.”
“Were you aware that Greg suffered from eczema?” Mrs. Mancini leaned forward, her voice tight with hatred.
At the mention, Victoria felt her wrist inflame. Flushing with crimson shame, pressing hard against her watch strap. She gritted her teeth against the itch. There was no way she was going to scratch herself like a damn monkey in front of this audience.
“I’ve never read his medical history,” she countered. Some childish fiber of her being hated to admit there was anything she didn’t know.
Mr. Jackson took over before his client could speak out of turn again. “He’d suffered from it since he was three years old. It affected the back of his hands, his wrists, his ankles, and his feet. The gloves he wore were to keep the topical cream in place and to protect his hands against damage.”
Victoria nodded, keeping her face blank. The itch in her wrist was creeping up into her hand, down into her elbow. The center of her back started to crawl in irritated sympathy.
“As I said, I wasn’t privy to his medical records.” Victoria shifted in her chair and looked down at her hands. She pulled at the sleeves of her blouse, so her ugly wrists were covered.
“I followed him on foot. He walked along a path that took him into the park, then diverted to a walking track. It was late and hard to see. The track opened out into an empty picnic area.”
It had looked more abandoned than empty. Not even littered with the refuse of kids getting into mischief that there was closer to town.
After a few minutes, a young woman whom I later learned was Star Harris, arrived on a different path and sat at one of the wooden tables.”
For a moment, a waver crept into Victoria’s voice. She stopped talking, closing her eyes.
I was going to a party.
Star’s terrified pleading expression filled Victoria’s vision. She popped open her eyes again and looked at Freddie Lawson. She wanted this to stop. He was scribbling on a yellow legal pad, oblivious to her discomfort.
“The young woman was dressed in a metallic summer dress. It was close-fitting at the top and then flared out below her waist. Her hair was curled down below her shoulders.” Victoria swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. “She wore silver strapped heels and looked like she was on her way to a party.”
The table shifted, and before she could stop herself, Victoria stared up at Mrs. Mancini. The woman’s lip was curled in a sneer. She mouthed the word, slut, and Victoria didn’t know if it was directed at her or at pitiful, dead Star.
She locked her gaze on the older woman’s, hoping to force her eyes to drop, to retreat in shame. Mrs. Mancini continued to stare at her, facial expression changing from fury, to gloating.
“Could I have a glass of water?” Victoria asked. When he didn’t respond, she punched Freddie Lawson on the arm. The gesture was meant to appear playful, but she put force behind it.
When his startled expression met hers, she nodded at the carafe and glasses set up on the table. Deliberately out of her reach. “A glass of water?”
He poured one out for her, sliding it across the wood tabletop. The beading condensation left a silvery trail on the h
ighly-polished chestnut. Freddie poured another for himself, then raised his eyebrows in inquiry across the table. He received a superior sneer from the lawyer and a furious glare from Mrs. Mancini. Victoria saw Freddie’s hand was shaking as he lifted his glass to take a long sip. The rim chattered a secret Morse code against his teeth.
Victoria sipped from her own glass, using the water to thin out the gum of saliva forming in her mouth. Last night had been another night she should have spent sleeping. Instead, spent wide awake and pissed off at everyone in the world.
“Gregory Mancini sat beside Star Harris at the picnic table. He was talking to her, but I was too far away to hear. After a minute or two, he put his hand on her leg, and she pushed him off. By this stage, I was worried for her. Star Harris was thin, vulnerable. I don’t think she topped ninety pounds.”
“Worried for her why?”
“I thought I may be witnessing a sexual assault. Gregory Mancini put his hands on her a few more times, and again she pushed him away. Star Harris went from looking uncomfortable to looking frightened.”
Like a girl who’d woken from a spell to find herself in the woods. A wolf with gleaming white fangs sitting next to her at the table.
“I pulled my phone out to call into the station for backup. I didn’t have a radio on me, so I was using my mobile phone. However, out in the Arrowheads, the reception gets a bit sketchy. There weren’t any bars showing, and I walked toward the clearing. I thought that if I could get farther from the trees, I’d be able to place the call.”
Victoria glanced down at her watch. Twenty minutes in, and that was her first outright lie.
When Victoria had pulled her mobile out of her jacket pocket, she’d found the battery flat. Her nightly ritual of plugging the phone into the charger by her bed had been neglected the same way she’d neglected her sleep.
“Because I was looking at the screen, I didn’t keep my eyes trained on Gregory Mancini. I heard a thump and turned back. Star was on the ground. Stunned and terrified. The Birdman stood over her with a rock in his hand. By the time I pulled my weapon, he’d placed a steel garrote around her neck. He knelt on the back of Star Harris’s neck and pulled the ends apart.”
Victoria’s voice caught in her throat as the horrific scene unfolded in front of her. She pushed ahead. Wanting his mother to know the terrifying monster she’d raised.
“She was making the most horrible noise. It was a strangled sound, but wet.” Victoria kept her eyes fixed on the table, but her right hand crept up unawares to encircle her throat.
“When I walked into the clearing and issued my first warning, I could see that her tongue was poking out from her lips. It dragged on the ground. Her hands were up against her throat, her fingers scrabbling for a grip to try to loosen the wire. Her eyes were bulging, and one of them had turned black with blood.”
Victoria shook her head, trying to clear the terrified gurgle from her ears.
“Gregory Mancini didn’t even turn when I issued my warning. He continued to kneel on Star Harris, he continued to pull the handles of the garrote far apart. I shouted another warning—”
Had she? In the daze of fear, Victoria couldn’t remember.
“—but he didn’t look up. He didn’t stop. I fired three shots, in a triangle pattern to his chest, and he fell backward. His hands loosened their grip on the wire, and I ran across to Star, to help her.
“The wire had bitten into her neck. When I pulled it away, blood ran down her throat. There was a sucking noise where her windpipe had been severed in the attack. Like someone sucking up the last few drops in a glass of soda. I pushed her onto her side, into the emergency position. She had a phone in her purse. I used it to call 911 and ask for an ambulance. By the time I told them where I was, Star had stopped breathing.”
Victoria’s breathing hitched in sympathy with a long-dead victim. Her eyes filled with tears that she angrily wiped away.
“I pushed her onto her back and breathed two breaths into her mouth. The hole in her throat meant it wasn’t getting to her lungs, so I used my jacket to press against the wound, then tried again. This time her chest rose and fell. I tried it again, and she started to breathe again on her own. It was wet, the blood from her wound was draining into her throat. I pulled her into my lap and turned her head to the side, raising my knees under her back. So the blood would drain out of her mouth.”
Victoria wiped a hand over her lips, trying to wipe away the copper taste she’d spat out, over and over, six months before. Her eyes were still fixed to the tabletop. She couldn’t tear her gaze away. Her mind broadcast a film reel of memory, frame by frame. Too much detail.
“I thought that if I could just keep her breathing, it didn’t matter how long the ambulance took, she’d be okay. If she was still alive when the paramedics got there, she had a chance. Then Gregory Mancini sat up and came at her again.”
Victoria wiped a hand over her face, as though she could wipe the horrific memories away.
For one long, shocked second she’d looked into the Birdman’s empty grin, his hollowed eyes. His face pale because the holes she’d already put in his body had drained most of his blood away.
It was like being stuck in a horror film where the heroine was destined to die, and the destructive monster was destined to live forever. A horror movie where silver bullets did no damage and throwing holy water at a vampire earned you ridicule instead of terrified screams.
“He sat up and moved toward her. I couldn’t handle everything that was going on, there was enough happening with Star dying. I shot him in the head so he wouldn’t keep reaching for her. When I put my gun back in my holster, I realized I couldn’t hear Star breathing any longer. I lay her down on the ground and breathed into her mouth again. This time, she didn’t respond, and I started CPR. I continued until the paramedics arrived, approximately forty minutes later.”
No matter how panicked her garbled instructions had been, there was no way they could drive an ambulance to meet them. Two guys had trekked in, hauling everything they thought they’d need.
“They had a portable defibrillator with them, but Star wasn’t responsive. She was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.”
#
Freddie Lawson escorted her to a waiting area just outside before popping back inside the conference room.
“I won’t be too long,” he promised, heading back in with his face steeled for battle.
Victoria closed her eyes gratefully as she sank into the plush cushions. This chair designer knew the correct proportion of seat to padding. Her hands shook with anxiety. The emotion of the last hour emptying out into her central nervous system.
A more effective stimulant than the instant coffee she’d gulped that morning.
Angry raised voices faded into a background hum as Victoria rested. She still had to go to the station house. Needed to work out how to do her job given the reprimand she’d received the day before.
The imprint of Star Harris’ bloodied mouth remained as a tingle in her lower lip.
It hadn’t gone down like that, of course. When Victoria started to lie, she hadn’t been able to stop. The version she’d just spoken to was only slightly altered from the version she’d given to Captain Haggerty in the immediate aftermath. The version she’d dreamed up as the evening faded to night and Star’s body cooled in her arms.
She’d shot Gregory three times in the chest. That much was accurate. She’d run to Star, seen her injuries, tried her best to save her.
The girl’s eyes had opened, confused, puzzled, the first time Victoria blew air into Star’s lungs. Star had struggled briefly in her arms, a panicked frown creasing her forehead. She’d attempted to sit up, to see what was happening. Maybe trying to piece together the night that had turned out so very different from the way it started.
Star had looked at the party frock, her strappy sandals, the feather and elastic bracelet that encircled her wrist, and said, “I was going to a party.”
T
he words were whispered partly in clarification, partly in denial of what was happening. Stars eyes had locked onto Victoria’s in the dimming light, and she’d smiled, revealing dentist-white teeth streaked with blood.
A voice that haunted Victoria throughout her days and nights.
When her body collapsed back into unconsciousness, limp in Victoria’s arms, deadweight, Victoria had pressed her lips against Star’s again and again. Trying to inflate her life with recycled oxygen. There was no response the second time. When ten minutes of CPR failed to bring anything except a deep muscle strain in Victoria’s chest, arms, and buttocks, she’d thrown back her head and howled.
Gregory Mancini had chosen that moment to raise himself up off the ground.
In a haze of grief and revenge, Victoria shot him in the head. A savage pleasure thrust through her body as she saw his arm outstretched. His feeble attempt to ward off the bullet that ended his life. She took a vicious pleasure in seeing his head jerk back. Seeing the life leave his eyes the way it had already left Star’s.
If she’d moved into the scene before he attacked, she could have saved the girl’s young life. If she’d shown her gun and badge to Gregory Mancini before he raised a rock and began the business of killing, she would’ve had two live people to deal with. Her night would’ve ended working out how to get Mancini to the car, while she stopped Star running away in fright.
But no. Victoria had wanted to catch him in the act.
There were too many differences in his last killing; wrong age, wrong part of town. Victoria had waited until he struck a blow because otherwise, she wasn’t sure she could pin anything on him.
The price paid for surety was one last victim. The price paid was Star’s life.
“It’s over,” Freddie said as he nudged Victoria’s leg.
She opened her eyes and looked at him blankly. It would never be over.
“The case. Mrs. Mancini’s dropping it.”
The one-sided yelling that emerged from the conference room belied Freddie’s assessment, but a moment later Mr. Jackson came striding out the door, briefcase in hand, a swirl of expletives accompanying him out of the room.