“The area where the truck was parked, was it pretty remote?”
“Yes,” said one of the detectives. I couldn’t remember his first name, but the tag on his uniform read Niskavaara. “It is rural, but still well-traveled enough. We were surprised no body was found.”
“Do you know if Koskinen would have had his medication with him?” Koskinen had various prescriptions for his depression but none of the medication had been found either in the truck or at his residence.
“His family said he usually did. Sometimes he was gone for a couple of days, so he brought it.”
“If Crawford saw the medication in the truck, he could’ve used that to make his plan,” I said. “Leave the truck idling on the side of the road, door ajar. Makes us think he just walked away from it all, took the pills with him and overdosed.”
“Then Crawford did a good job.”
“He’s smart, that much we know. Cunning, dangerous, and determined. The list goes on. I hate to admit it, but I underestimated him. I never should’ve done that. There’s no way he could’ve gotten lucky sixty-four times and never even shown up on anyone’s radar.”
“Murders like this are harder to solve.”
“Definitely. Most of the time the killer is someone known to the victim. When it’s not, it’s a hell of a lot harder to suss out the details. And when the killer doesn’t even have a connection to the country let alone the victim…”
“So he’s a pilot?”
“Was a pilot up until six months ago when he quit his job. Never gave them a reason either. Flew all around the world for two decades and then handed over his wings without saying a word.”
“So travel would have been easy for him.”
“Yeah, he went just about everywhere. He flew cargo so his routes were pretty scattered sometimes. Gave him a chance to see the world and find his victims.”
The detective looked up, pondering. “I wonder how he chose them. He must have been to more places than that.”
“He definitely didn’t kill everywhere he went. The first missing person linked to this case went missing three-and-a-half years ago, the most recent only a few months. He was averaging close to two kills a month. If we knew what led him to his victims, it might help us stop him before he can strike again.”
“There’s nothing similar?”
“Nothing. Different ages, races, genders, backgrounds; there doesn’t seem to be any one thing to bring them all together. It seems like he picks them at random, but I’m not sure about that.”
“Why not?”
“Everything seems too thought out for that. I can’t see him leaving that much to chance.”
He nodded, unsure what to say next. I couldn’t expect much of him, he’d only been on the case for a few hours. Not that I had been on it much longer; not like I had anything better to contribute.
I stood up and walked into another office to find Eddie hunched over his laptop and typing with a vigor I couldn’t imagine. He’d been quiet all day, staring at his smartphone while I dug in the dirt and using a netbook in the car on the ride there and back. Every time I saw him I swore he had a new electronic device with him.
“Anything?”
He jumped at the sound of my voice and pulled the headphones out of his ears in the process. “Sorry, detective. Startled me.”
“Lincoln’s fine, Eddie.”
He nodded and looked back at his screen then spun the laptop around so I could see it. “Just been going through all of the locations for the burials. Had to get the details from each e-mail and then plot it here. Figured it would be good to have them all plotted on a map.”
“Nicely done. Can you copy that over to my computer when we get back?”
“Sure. I’m not done yet, though. I’m still working on getting all of the information I need, and there’s a lot more that I need so it might be a bit before I finish it. Although that depends on how quickly the other services send me their files. But if you click on one of the points…” He slid the wireless mouse across the table to me. I scrolled over to the mark just north of Helsinki. “Not that one. Not yet.”
“Okay…” I thought for a second then moved the cursor across the map back to the motherland. I clicked just above London and a new screen opened up with all of the pertinent details: the victim’s name, gender and date of birth; the co-ordinates of the burial site; the date the victim went missing; physical descriptors like height, weight, hair and eye colour; even crime scene photos were all linked to the little point on the map.
“Well?” he said, looking up at me like a child waiting to hear about their report card.
“You done good, Eddie. Damned good.”
“I’m still waiting on details from other agencies around the world, and of course I don’t have much for the ones we haven’t dug up yet. Once I have it all in, should make our job easier.”
“Yeah, of course. All that information right at our fingertips. Once you’re done, let’s make sure everyone has a copy of this.”
Eddie nodded, then was about to speak again. I could tell by the nervousness he was showing that it was going to be more of the same repetition of facts.
“Thanks again, Eddie,” I said, just before he spoke. He turned the computer back around and went back to work. The rapid-fire clicking of his keyboard lingered in the air as I made my way back down the hall. The phone in the office was ringing as I walked toward the desk I had been given. Detective Niskavaara answered it.
“Terve,” he said. It must have been a private line for police-use only, otherwise he would have answered with his title. “Okei, odota hetki.”
He handed the phone to me.
“Umm, hello?”
“Detective Munroe? It’s Najat.”
English. My heart returned to its normal pace and my hands stopped sweating. It was foolish to worry so much about someone speaking a different language to me, but it had always been an issue of mine. I hated to try to speak another language, mainly because I always thought I would get it wrong. It was like that in French class through grade school, and it was like that now with Polish when we went to visit Kat’s family.
I didn’t want to look like an idiot; at least not any more than I already may have.
“What do you have, Najat?”
“All the evidence is the same as in the other cases. The body has been wrapped in white linen and there is an upside-down cross carved into the skull as you saw at the dig site.”
She was always professional in her speech, as if she were addressing a classroom.
“Nothing new?”
“There is a small nick on the anterior of the L4 vertebra.”
“That’s what, the lumbar?”
“Yes. I would say that the nick is consistent with the stab wound observed in the remains of Jennifer Plimpton. It’s too soon to tell, but the mark appears consistent with an edged or pointed weapon being thrust into the abdomen.”
“So we may have our cause of death for all of them? Great work, Najat. Do whatever else you need to do, we fly out soon. Can you make a mold of the damaged vertebra?”
“Already done, Detective.”
“Thanks. We’ll pick you up from the hospital in an hour.”
“I’ll be ready.”
I really hoped she would loosen up a bit. All of the rigidity and rank structure made me uncomfortable. It was easier with just Kara and Chen even if Kara did still occasionally, even after a few years, say something that pulled rank back into the partnership.
“Sorry, detective, but thought I overheard something about cause of death?”
I didn’t react.
“Detective?”
Still nothing.
“Lincoln?”
“There you go. Yeah, small nick on one of
the lumbar vertebrae. Looks like it might be from an edged weapon, maybe related to the stab wound we saw in the Plimpton remains.”
Eddie nodded. “I’ll add it into the database,” he said. “Just finished uploading all of the crime scene photos for this case.”
“Good work. We need to head out in about forty-five. Make sure you’re ready. We’re meeting Najat there.”
“I’ll be ready,” he said as he walked out of the office.
INTERPOL should not have been allowed to book our flights. We were to leave Helsinki at ten and arrive in Fukuoka, Japan also at ten – except the next day. It was eighteen hours in transit, but Japan was six hours ahead of Helsinki.
There must have been something faster. Or tomorrow.
I would have preferred a hotel room in Finland, a chance to get some sleep before spending an entire day traveling. Whether it was cheaper this way or they hadn’t thought of the logistics I didn’t know. All I knew was that if Eddie rapped or blasted classical music through his headphones the entire flight, we’d be landing with one less team member.
Chapter Ten
The flights were as expected - long, boring, uneventful, cramped, uncomfortable, barely edible meals at designated intervals, terrible movies with audio you could barely hear - but at least they were on time. The trip took us to Tokyo first, overshooting our target by a few hundred kilometers as the crow flies. I always found it interesting though how flight paths weren’t direct, they took the curvature of the Earth into account and it was often easier to go north then back south instead of due east.
The stopover in Tokyo was short, but it gave us enough time to stop at a ramen stand and enjoy a real meal before being crammed back into a flying sardine can. The ramen was delicious, even if it was one of the hottest things I had ever tried to eat – temperature hot, not spicy. The other people around the stand, mostly businessmen, heartily ate their soups slurping at the noodles. I remembered learning a long time ago that this was common practice, the slurping brought cool air into your mouth to keep you from getting burned by the piping hot soup.
The soup was great, but I felt more filled up on liquid than anything else. The next stop along the way sold onigiri, salted rice wrapped in seaweed paper and usually filled with pickled plums, salted salmon or a variety of other fillings. It was an ingenious snack as the seaweed paper was sealed in plastic and wrapped around the rice and filling. The directions were simple and by the time you were done unwrapping the plastic the seaweed was now wrapped around the triangular-shaped rice ball. It was a great way to keep the seaweed paper crisp. Two of those and I was done.
We made our way through the concourse to the domestic terminal and waited for our next flight.
“Always wanted to go to Tokyo,” Eddie said. “Too bad we don’t get to leave the airport.”
“Agreed. This blows.” I may have been pouting. Japan had long been on my bucket list and now here I was, confined to Narita International Airport. Eddie and I were chomping at the bit to get out and explore, me for more food and him, I assumed, for video games and other electronics. It didn’t matter why, we both had our own reasons, we just wanted out.
“I would love to do some karaoke,” Najat said. “I’ve heard it’s different here. I mean, there are still places where you can sing in front of the whole bar, but a friend said most people get their own room. That way you just sing in front of your own friends. Servers come around to the rooms taking food and drink orders. She said it was a lot of fun and not quite as nerve-wracking as it is back home singing in front of a hundred people you don’t know.”
“That actually sounds like a lot of fun,” I said. “I’m sure it would be better after a few rounds of drinks though.”
“Of course.” That was the first I’d heard from Najat about drinking, or partying in any way. Maybe she did know how to let loose occasionally.
“Well, we’re here all day tomorrow and don’t leave until the next afternoon. If we get a chance, maybe we can hit up a karaoke bar.”
Najat’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Sure, assuming we have time. The case comes first, of course.”
She nodded but couldn’t stop smiling.
“Wonder if we can find one in an arcade,” Eddie said. “There are a few games I’d love to try out.”
“We’ll see what we can do. Let’s just figure out first why Crawford killed two people in one night.”
“Something probably went wrong. He never did anything else like that, and from the details I’ve been putting into the program the fastest time between killings was seven days. Most were close to two weeks, some as much as almost two months.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Doesn’t add up. Something changed his plan along the way. From what I’ve read on the case they couldn’t find any link between the two victims. Seems like they were both chosen at random unless there’s something else we’re missing.”
“How far apart where they buried?” Najat was joining in on the investigative discussion.
“About a kilometer. If they were buried together or really close, I would’ve said he’d been interrupted. But a kilometer apart is a decent distance, especially if you’re dragging or carrying a body.”
“A pleasant thought,” Najat said. “Do you think he had help?”
“I don’t. Nothing we’ve seen yet indicates accomplices. Gut instinct? His crimes are personal, they mean something to him. Bringing someone else into it would cheapen that. He wants to be in control, he wants to be the one calling the shots and pulling the strings. From what we know of him thus far, I think he’s doing this all on his own.”
“That’s a lot of murders.”
“Yeah, almost unheard of. There have only been a handful of people with more confirmed kills than Crawford.”
“What’s the highest?”
“Confirmed is over two hundred. The record belongs to a doctor in the United Kingdom who would euthanize his patients. There was also a Colombian with almost a hundred and forty victims, mostly children. He was suspected of over four hundred killings though.”
Najat and Eddie both looked disgusted.
“At least we know Crawford won’t make it that high,” Eddie said.
“I’m not even sure he wants to. He quit his job as a pilot, so he’s gotten rid of his means of travel. And he’s identified himself. Everyone is on guard looking for him. He’s the most-wanted person in the world right now.”
“So it’s just a matter of time?” Najat looked concerned.
“I think so. He’s testing us, but he’s testing himself as well. I almost get the feeling he wants us to catch him.”
“That usually happens, doesn’t it?”
“Depends, Eddie. Some serial killers want the fame and the glory. If they kill and kill and kill without getting caught or identified then whatever name the media comes up with becomes famous: Son of Sam, the Green River Killer, Jack the Ripper. Some are fine with that, others want their name attached to it. They want their face all over the news. They want people to know it was them.”
“Crawford wants everyone to know.”
“He does, but I’m not convinced it’s for the same reasons. Honestly, the guy confuses the hell out of me.”
A few hours later we touched down in Fukuoka at an airport that was formerly an air base. The Japanese Air Force commissioned the base in the forties but after the war the US Air Force moved in. Both the Itazuke Air Base and Fukuoka Airport operated from the same site until 1972 when the USAF moved out. Fukuoka was the most populated city on Kyushu, Japan’s south island, and it was the hub for transport in the southern part of the country with bullet train lines passing through as well as two hydrofoil ferries which connected Japan to South Korea.
We disembarked from the plane, one that had Hello Kitty painted on it – a sure sign we w
ere in Japan – and made our way through the airport. I could hear a commotion not far from us and moved quickly through the crowd to see what was going on.
“Yamete! Yamete!” As soon as I saw the police officer I knew what he was yelling.
Stop.
I looked down the concourse to see what looked to be two Japanese police officers chasing a young, white male toward me.
“Eddie, take this and show it to them if they need it,” I said, handing him my INTERPOL identification card.
I kept an eye on the chase, watched as they got closer and closer. They were closing in fast, only several metres to go. I moved forward, took a few large, fast steps and, while the guy who was being chased had turned around to look at his pursuers, grabbed hold of his shirt and spun him around to stop him.
He reacted faster than I had expected and took a swing at me without even looking to see who had a hold on him. He obviously didn’t care. I let go of his shirt and stepped back, his fist narrowly missing my face. He tried to turn away from me to run again but I grabbed his shoulder leading to another swing and a miss.
“Fucking let go!”
He kept trying to pull away and I did my best to hold on to him. The Japanese police were almost on us, I just had to hold him a little longer.
“Stop resisting, I’m with INTERPOL.”
He didn’t care. His left leg shot out and I wasn’t able to get out of the way in time, instead I took a glancing blow to my right shin.
Fine. Have it your way.
He took another swing at me, a wild haymaker with his right hand. It was an easy punch to stop, and one that even an inexperienced fighter would have seen coming. I put my left arm up to block the strike then delivered a well-measured, jab to his face with my right hand. He stumbled backwards clutching his face with both hands as the blood started to flow.
Death By Degrees Page 9
