The Fairytale Killer : E&M Investigations Prequel

by Lena Bourne

  Her legs and her arms are ice cold and she’s shivering so hard her teeth are chattering. She’s trying to speak but can’t.

  “It’s all right, you’re safe now, you’re all right, I’m here,” I say as I struggle to take off my coat without letting go of her. I finally manage to wrap it around her.

  I’m lying to her. We’re not safe. The psycho could be back at any minute and if Eva isn’t suffering from hypothermia from lying motionless in this freezing cold room, she will be by the time I get her to my car, which I left almost a kilometer away from here.

  I hold her tight with one arm and reach for my phone, guided to it by the flashlight that’s still on. It’s hard holding onto her while keeping the gun pointed at the darkness beyond the door and dialing Schmitt’s number at the same time, but I do it.

  It rings for so long I’m beginning to give up on him by the time he finally answers.

  Luckily, he’s a sharp and clever man. He quickly makes sense of what I’m telling him and promises he’ll come here with reinforcements right away.

  Eva is holding me around the neck as hard as she can, which isn’t very hard at all. She’s still shaking very hard.

  “It was a young man, heavily tattooed. I would recognize him again if I saw him,” she whispers, breathing hard. I can feel the effort it’s taking her to tell me all this. “But there’s another one. An older one with a very clear voice. Hearing him speak was like listening to someone read. His German was perfect. Too perfect. No accent I could hear.”

  I caress her hair even as I hold her closer. Her shivering’s getting worse, not better. “That’s excellent information, Eva. You did really well, you’re so strong. They’ve arrested the young man. We’re still looking for the older one, but we’ll find him. You’re safe now. You can rest. You’ll tell me everything once you’re recovered. I’m sure it’ll be a lot of help.”

  She shivers violently and whimpers, trying to hold me tighter but not succeeding. I hate what he’s done to her. He’s reduced my strong, independent Eva to this shivering, whimpering, weak woman.

  It’s my fault she’s here. My fault, because I couldn’t track down the psycho fast enough, because I believed she was ignoring my calls instead of knowing something was wrong. I could’ve started looking for her days ago. And then maybe her nightmare would be less horrible.

  Her hair smells of hair dye, the harsh chemical scent making my nose itch. I wish I could offer her more than my arms around her and my coat. I wish I could give her these days she spent here back. And I wish I’d shot the bastard when I had the chance. I’ll have to live with these failures for the rest of my life. I know it like I know that all I’ve done has not been enough.

  32

  Mark

  The night sky outside the fifth-floor hospital room is still pitch dark, even darker than it was because the moon has long since set. Eva is sleeping peacefully in a bed that looks too big for her slight frame, her unnaturally black hair a stark contrast against the pristine white of the pillow. Her face is as pale as the sheets, her lips still tinged blue.

  They messed up when they brought her in, gave her some type of sedative that mixed badly with whatever her captor was giving her—Valerian most likely—and made her worse before she started getting better. But the arrhythmia it caused seems to be fine now. She’s connected to a monitor that’s recording her vitals and her heartbeat is finally returning to a normal, healthy rhythm. It kept fluctuating all night, kept forming a completely wrong kind of green glowing line on the monitor, jagged and irregular, and kept scaring me to death.

  Schmitt and his officers came as quickly as he promised they would. They saw no black or dark blue Kia sedan on their approach, but they did find the seven dwarfs. Underfed and on the edge of hypothermia, so heavily sedated and malnourished that they’re still fighting to keep two of them alive, but on the whole, it’s the best outcome that any of us could’ve hoped for.

  They’re still searching the house, but they’ve already recovered so much evidence that they hardly need any more. Fingerprints, DNA, fibers, the superglue, buckets of blood. There’s no doubt that we’ve discovered the place where The Fairytale Killer’s killed his victims, and there’s no doubt he wasn’t careful at all while he was there.

  All we have to do now is find the man himself.

  Just like before.

  I should’ve shot the bastard when I had the chance.

  I haven’t left Eva’s side since they brought her here. Others are looking for the car and the man I saw. Others are sifting through the evidence. I’m terrified that the psycho will come here and try to finish what he started with Eva. A man so concerned with making everything perfect will not leave loose ends. Six German police officers are guarding her here, but I trust no one but myself to keep her safe. Like I should’ve done from the start. Like I failed to do.

  The piercing sound of an ambulance siren wakes me with a jolt. It takes me a second to see clearly, to know where I am. The hospital, Eva’s safe, we stopped him.

  Schmitt is standing over Eva’s bed looking at her sleeping.

  I lunge to my feet, grunting at him to get away from her.

  It’s him. How could it not be? I knew it all along.

  Then he looks at me, his piercing, black eyes friendly, concerned even.

  “They tell me she is going to be fine,” he says. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  I sit back down and rub my eyes with the thumb and forefinger of my right hand, my palm snagging against the beginnings of a beard. When I open my eyes again I notice the light in the room is coming from outside. It’s the end of a clear, sunny day, the setting sun coloring the blue sky a pale yellow in the west.

  “I slept all day, didn’t I?” I say, more to myself than him. The dull pain in my lower back and the sharp one in my neck are screaming, Yes! to that question.

  “You needed to so we let you,” Schmitt says. He’s still wearing his dark blue coat, and it’s buttoned up to the neck. His cheeks are red with windburn. The brilliant blue sky and yellow sun were a lie. It must’ve been a freezing cold day today.

  “We could use your help now,” he adds and holds out the tan envelope he’s holding. It’s sealed with all sorts of things, including a black, red, and yellow string that the Germans use to seal their most important documents. I look at it, then back up at him, not taking it.

  “This is all the fingerprint and DNA evidence we’ve recovered so far,” he says. “I am officially requesting your help in processing it. And giving you the chance to determine if this was the work of one of yours.”

  I fix my hair back with both hands and take the envelope.

  “Deliver it to your lab yourself, please,” he says. “But you might want to go home to shower and change first.”

  He’s got a very good point.

  “I have people I trust that can come and collect this,” I say. “I’m not leaving Eva alone. He might come back for her.”

  Schmitt exhales sharply. “There are six officers just on this floor and more in the lobby and outside. I was carded three times before they let me in here and they all know me. We’re leaving nothing to chance. You can trust us.”

  “And I do,” I say, not standing up.

  He shrugs. “Call me when you find anything out, and I’ll do the same.”

  I promise I will and he leaves.

  I should get back to work.

  But Eva’s still as pale as the sheets and I can’t bear even the thought of leaving her, let alone trying to do it.

  There’s only about five percent of battery left on my phone as I call Sargent Ross to come and collect the evidence. He’s full of questions, but I keep the conversation brief.

  Eva’s blinking at me when I hang up and look at her again.

  “I’m sorry I woke you,” I tell her softly. Her eyes are as bright blue as the pristine sky outside.

  “I have to tell you. That man who abducted me, the young muscular one, the same one Selima dated, I’m
sure…” she pauses to take a shuddering breath. “His name is Russell Parcivall, with a weird spelling, two Ls. And his father, Wallace Parcivall, he’s a US Army man, he might be the old man, who…who...who…”

  She can’t say it, and I don’t want her to try.

  I take her hand and stroke her hair. “When did you find all this out?”

  “Right before the guy abducted me…someone sent me a link to an article about him…I was going to tell you at dinner,” she says, her voice growing fainter and fainter. The effects of the medicine screw-up are still lingering. Or maybe this is just the aftermath of the shock she’s had.

  “I know about Russell,” I tell her, since I know apologizing for not meeting her for dinner that night, which is what I really want to do, won’t change a damn thing. “But Wallace, he’s been dead for a while now.”

  Her eyes get even wider. “Who then?”

  I shrug. “They’ll find whoever it is.”

  “They?” she asks, her eyes narrowing in that sharp, questioning way that’s her signature look. “Not you?”

  I pull up a chair and sit down next to her bed, not letting go of her hand. “I’m going to stay right here until you recover. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

  She squeezes my hand, her eyes turning watery, but then they harden. “Mark, no. I will be fine. I’m a big girl and you have a job to do.”

  The strength with which she says it almost makes me believe it.

  “I’d prefer to stay right here,” I say with a smile. “They’ve got over two hundred people working on this case. They don’t need me.”

  “I need you to find this psycho,” she says, putting so much force into it her heart rate rises high enough to cause the monitor she’s attached to start beeping shrilly.

  Her eyes are huge and full of determination. There’s no arguing with her when she looks at me like this, I know it from past experience. She’ll have her way in this. And I dare to let in just a sliver of hope that I’ll have her back soon. Complete and unharmed. Safe and whole.

  Blackman is standing at the nurses’ station in the lobby, surrounded by two officers. He’s trying to explain who he is and why he needs to get to Eva’s room. He’s not calling it that, he’s calling it the witness’ room, but he’s got no official ID to show them, so the officers aren’t budging.

  I walk over and show them my ID. One of the officers is Hans, the young man who drove me to the Snow White murder scene what feels like years ago, but was really less than a week ago.

  He nods and stands aside so I can face Blackman.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

  “Novak, good,” he says. “I spoke to Sargent Ross, and he told me you sent him to pick something up from the hospital. Since my hotel is just around the corner from here and I was on my way to the base, I told him I can pick it up. But they won’t let me go up.”

  He’s flustered and agitated and talking too loudly. I show him the evidence bag I’m holding. “I have it here,” I tell him. “I was just heading to the base to bring it in myself. We can go together.”

  His lips are moving like he’s about to start talking, but he doesn’t.

  “Come on,” I say. “We’ll have to take a taxi. Unless you have a car?”

  He looks at me sharply, then shakes his head. “No, I don’t have a car.”

  I point at the revolving doors and let him precede me out into the blistering cold. The sun has set and the brilliant blue sky is turning dark fast.

  There’s a line of taxis along the curb to the left of the hospital entrance. I walk to the first one, making sure Blackman is following. I open the back door and let him get in first, before taking a seat beside him.

  The interior smells of leather and a cloying artificial pine car freshener. I tell the driver where to go, then lean back in my seat and close my eyes like I’m about to doze off. But I don’t think I’ve ever been more awake. I need to finish this, or neither Eva nor I will ever have any peace.

  33

  Mark

  There’s a flurry of activity around the HQ building at the base, as there usually is around this time of the evening. People finishing their workday, going to dinner or out for the evening. I tell the taxi driver to let us out in front of the gates to the base. It’s a short, less than five-minute walk to HQ from there and I suggest it to Blackman under the pretense of needing some fresh air and to stretch my legs. It’s not really a pretense. I do need both those things, but I can get plenty once the black cloud of this case is no longer hanging over my head.

  “What made you decide to go to that apple farm instead of the slaughterhouse?” Blackman asks as we’re walking. He’s pulled the collar of his long dark coat high around his neck and is holding it closed.

  “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, more intuition than logical thinking,” I say, telling him the truth. “And it’s a good thing I did. I got a good look at the man who came there to finish what he started. And his car.”

  That part’s a lie.

  He looks sideways at me, only his eyes and nose visible above the collar of his coat. His breath is a perpetual cloud of white mist.

  “The German police are scouring the area for him,” I say. “And I stayed at the hospital all night in case he decided to come and finish what he started with Eva. He’s not the type to leave loose ends, now is he?”

  We’ve reached the HQ building and I hold open the door for him to enter first.

  “He didn’t?” Blackman asks.

  I shake my head and shrug. “I still hope he might.”

  “And the man you arrested yesterday, has he said anything?” Blackman asks. “I had a suspicion that we were looking for more than one person.”

  He never mentioned that suspicion to me. But I don’t say that.

  “His injuries are still being tended,” I say, pressing the button to call the elevator. “The Russians did quite a number on him. They think he might lose his whole left hand.”

  Blackman’s face shows no reaction. None at all. He’s so pale his skin has taken on a bluish tone.

  “But he got off easy, even if he does,” I add, just as the elevator arrives. “Frankly, I’m surprised the Russians didn’t kill him outright.”

  “Why…why do you think they didn’t?” he asks.

  “I think he told them he wasn’t working alone, the same as he told me,” I say and let him precede me out of the elevator. “or maybe he was in so much pain he just wanted his daddy.”

  That did it. He turns to me sharply, his face still a pale bluish mask, but his eyes alight.

  “Why do you mock him?” he snaps. “There’s nothing funny about any of this. Your girlfriend almost died, didn’t she? What’s there to laugh about?”

  He’s displaying all the aggressive frustration of an old man too set in his ways to allow for any more change.

  “He wants to be taken seriously. Both he and his father do,” I say with a shrug as I use my keycard to unlock the metal doors leading to the lab. “But they’re just a couple of deranged psychos. And I won’t take that seriously. I’ll just make sure they never see the light of day again.”

  “Wallace Parcivall was a psycho,” Blackman mutters as we enter the lab proper. “He was never punished for it.”

  “I know letting him go must’ve been a blow to you,” I say as I lead the way to the office he appropriated for his use. The Top Secret file on Wallace is lying open in the middle of the desk atop the photos and reports from the crime scenes. “I’d like to talk more about that case with you. But let me first have a word with Sargent Ross.”

  I leave him there and shut the door behind me. Ross is already standing by the table in the middle of the room.

  “I was going to get the evidence from you at the hospital, Sir,” he says. “But then Blackman said—”

  “Follow me, Sargent,” I say, interrupting him as I stride to the metal door that leads to the labs.

  Once the door closes behind us, I l
ead him further into one of the empty offices.

  “I need you to call some MPs down here and have them guard the entrance to the lab,” I tell him. “No one is to leave until I say so.”

  He’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, but swallows hard instead of saying anything of the sort. “We have to protect this evidence,” I add to make it easier for him.

  “Yes, Sir,” he finally says.

  “But first, get Wanda and tell her to come in here.”

  He leaves with another, “Yes, Sir.” And a couple of minutes later, Wanda comes in on his heels. I hand her the evidence folder Schmitt left for me.

  “I’d like you to first process the fingerprint evidence from the victim’s room. You’ll find them in the folder. They should be clearly labeled,” I say. “Run them against everyone working here. Starting with me. And Blackman. Then check it against all the fingerprints we have, including the one on the photo.”

  “You want me to run them through the database of our personnel first?” she asks.

  Now both she and Ross are looking at me like I’m not making much sense. Or making the kind of sense they’d rather never hear from me again. I got us all in trouble after the first two victims were found, by having them check things that I had no permission to be checking.

  “This is on my authority,” I tell them. “How long will it take?”

  Wanda glances at Ross who doesn’t return her look.

  “Not long, an hour maybe,” she tells me.

  “Get it done,” I say to her and leave.

  If I’m right, we’ll know the identity of The Fairytale Killer in an hour or less. If I’m wrong, I very well might get that dishonorable discharge I so narrowly escaped a few months ago.

  After leaving Wanda and Ross I stayed in the empty office and made a call to Thompson to appraise him of the situation and find out a few things I still need to know. He sounded tired as he answered my questions and didn’t have any of his own.