Текст книги "Fear the Dark"

Автор книги: Chris Mooney

Соавторы: Chris Mooney
сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 26 страниц)

57

Darby’s mouth and throat went dry.

No one knew what had happened to Nicky Hubbard – no one except her killer, who had never been caught. And now Coop was telling her he’d found Hubbard’s fingerprints more than three decades later at the scene of a recent triple homicide in another state.

‘I examined the print myself,’ he said, and reached inside his rumpled, blood-stained overcoat. ‘There’s no question: it belongs to her. But don’t take my word for it.’

He came back with another folded set of papers and handed them to her. It was the forensics report on the plastic fingerprint he had recovered from the skirting board.

The FBI’s Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System had found four possible matches. The one with the highest probability belonged to Nicky Hubbard. Wichita PD had collected the girl’s fingerprints from items inside her bedroom and they had been loaded into IAFIS when it was officially launched on 28 July 1990.

Someone at the federal lab had pulled Hubbard’s original prints and emailed them to Coop, who performed a visual side-by-side comparison with the plastic print recovered from the Downes home. The evidence was conclusive. Nicky Hubbard, the seven-year-old missing girl who had been adopted by the nation had, at some point in time, been inside the bedroom where David and Laura Downes and their daughter had died. It was impossible to tell when Hubbard had been in there; fingerprints couldn’t be dated. There was no known method to determine how long a print had been on a surface.

‘This came through about five minutes ago,’ Coop said, pointing to the forensics report in her hand. ‘The IAFIS office called to tell me. No one else knows yet.’

‘Where d’you print these out?’

‘Robinson’s office. Williams is letting me use it.’ Then Coop’s face clouded, and he added, ‘Robinson is at Brewster General too. Heart attack. At the moment he’s in a stable condition.’

Darby placed the pages on her lap. She leaned back against her pillow and stared out the door, at the brightly lit hallway. Her mind felt empty, her body devoid of any feeling, as though she had been disconnected from everything that had happened since her arrival in Red Hill. It was as if her blood had been replaced with Novocain.

‘How old were you when it happened?’ Coop asked.

‘Eleven. You?’

‘Thirteen. You remember what that time was like?’

Darby nodded. ‘You couldn’t turn on the TV without seeing Nicky Hubbard. She was on the front page of every major newspaper, magazine and supermarket tabloid. Parents were suddenly terrified their kids were going to get snatched in broad daylight. After she disappeared, my parents never let me out of their sight.’

‘My mother was the same way with me and my sisters,’ Coop said. ‘Forget about leaving the house after sundown. Suddenly I couldn’t walk or ride my bike anywhere or play hoops without her chaperoning me.’

Darby’s gaze dropped back to her lap. Nicky Hubbard smiled up at her. The now-famous photograph, Darby had remembered reading, was the last picture Joan Hubbard had taken of her daughter.

‘The Hubbard case was really the first of its kind,’ he said. ‘A real watershed moment for the nation and for law enforcement.’

Coop wasn’t exaggerating. The National Center for Missing and Exploited Children hadn’t existed in 1983, and the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program was still years away. In 1983 there was no Megan’s Law requiring law enforcement agencies to inform the public about registered sexual offenders living in or around their neighbourhoods. No internet or email, just Teletype and fax machines. In 1983 it was easier to find a missing horse than an abducted or missing child.

‘Now we know why he cleaned up that area in the bedroom,’ Coop said. ‘That blood we found wedged between the hardwood floorboards must’ve belonged to her.’

‘I wonder why he didn’t try to remove the fingerprint.’

‘He probably didn’t see it. Christ, we could barely see it with the ALS machine.’

‘How many blood samples were in the trailer?’

‘All of them. They’re gone.’

Darby smoothed out the wrinkles on her sheets, thinking.

‘I think you were right about what you said to me at the bar,’ Coop said.

‘I said a lot of things last night.’

‘I’m talking specifically about what you said about him running us around to exhaust us. I’m on Day Three with a total of maybe five hours of sleep and my head feels like it’s stuffed full of cobwebs. I can’t think straight. I want to shut my eyes and not wake up for a week.

‘But the truth is, we haven’t been able to conduct a full investigation,’ Coop continued. ‘We haven’t been able to examine the other homes – all of which, by the way, are vacant. Including you and me, we had a total of five federal investigators here. Ray Williams is the only detective. Ever since we arrived, the perp has been taxing our resources. Why? Because of the blood he left behind. Can you imagine what would happen if it got out that Hubbard’s blood was found thirty years later at the scene of a triple homicide? This place would turn into a geek show. Every reporter, retired cop and private investigator would be crawling through town. We wouldn’t be able to get work done, and this guy would bolt – has probably already bolted. What, you disagree?’

‘No. No, I’m with you.’

‘But?’

‘Why not just lay low or, even better, pack up and get out of town? Why stick around?’

‘I had the same question.’

‘And if the Red Hill Ripper brought Nicky Hubbard to the Downes house three decades ago, why would he go back there and kill the Downes family?’

‘Another excellent question. We’ll have to ask Eli Savran.’

‘Who’s Eli Savran?’ Darby asked.

‘Our man Timmy,’ Coop replied.

58

‘His full name is Eli Timothy Savran,’ Coop said. ‘Remember the cleaning crew Robinson told us about last night, the one from Brewster that services the police stations and the sheriff’s office?’

Darby nodded. ‘Robinson said Williams was going to talk to the guy who owned it, Ron something.’

‘Ron Gondek. Williams did, last night. Turns out Gondek hired Timmy – and that’s what he prefers to be called, Tim or Timmy, not Eli. Timmy’s forty-seven, and he worked for the cleaning company for about two months and then he quit.’

‘Why?’

‘He told Gondek his mother had died and left him a good sum of money and a mortgage-free house. He was going to go back to school to get a degree in business or computer science, Gondek couldn’t remember which. But he did remember that Timmy cleaned the Red Hill station and that Timmy suffered from a rare metabolic condition known as TMAU, also known as Fish Odour Syndrome.’

‘Williams get an address?’

Coop nodded. ‘Timmy lives right here in Red Hill. Williams is petitioning a judge for a warrant to search Timmy’s house as we speak. I sent that sketch of Timmy to Williams, by the way. Williams pulled up Timmy’s licence photo and compared it with the sketch. It’s a near-match.’

‘Did you talk to RCFL to see if Timmy watched the interview?’

‘I did, and he didn’t. Which tells me he was already planning to go after the French family.’

‘You said Timmy Savran lives in Red Hill.’

‘That’s what Williams told me,’ Coop said. Williams said Timmy told Gondek that he came back to Red Hill to take care of his mother – she had cancer, needed radiation and chemo. Her son helped her out, and when it became a terminal situation – hospice and all that – Timmy started to look for work. He’s been in town for about three years.’

‘So he’s been here for three years and no one in town knows this guy?’

‘From what I was told, Timmy –’

‘And let’s stop with the Timmy shit. It sounds like we’re talking about a five-year-old kid.’

‘Okay, Eli was very sensitive about his condition. He dropped out of high school and started working odd jobs – nightshifts at factories and after-hours janitorial work where he wouldn’t have to interact with a lot of people. Guys like that live like vampires, they’re not around in the daylight.’

Maybe, Darby thought. Everything Coop had said sounded completely logical. So why was it eating at her?

‘There’s something else I need to tell you,’ Coop said. ‘Once the Bureau finds out what happened to Hoder, Otto and Hayes, they’re going to pull the plug on us.’

‘Not if you tell them that you’ve recovered Nicky Hubbard’s fingerprint they won’t,’ Darby said. ‘They’re not going to tell us to pack up and leave, not if you dangle the chance of all that great press under their noses.’

‘They’ll send in new people – senior people – to investigate what happened to the trailer. They’ll shake our hands, say thank you, send us packing and go to work. Before any of that goes down, they’ll want a full report from me – which will be hard to do, because my cell phone is infected and I can’t carry it with me at the moment. But the snow storm will buy us some time.’

‘How much time, you think?’

‘Forty-eight hours, if we’re lucky,’ Coop said.

A phone trilled from the corner of the room. Coop got up, fished the phone out of his coat pocket and answered the call.

‘Cooper.’ He listened for a moment and then he moved the mouthpiece away and said to Darby, ‘It’s Williams. He’s got the warrant.’

Coop turned back to his conversation. Darby sat up again, slowly, and, as she waited for the dizziness to pass and the throbbing to ease to a manageable level, she thought about what had happened last night at the French house, about why the Ripper had gone to such lengths to try to kill them when he could have simply faded back into the woodwork or, better yet, disappeared before the storm. Why stick around when he might be driving through some other state by now?

Darby was getting to her feet when she heard wet shoes squeaking outside her room. Deputy Sheriff Lancaster was storming through the corridor, heading her way.

59

Lancaster’s face didn’t seem friendly, though it was hard to tell. The right side was swollen, and Darby could see the beginnings of an eggplant-coloured bruise already at work beneath both eyes. The bridge of his nose was covered with a row of stitches.

Coop spoke into the satphone. ‘I need to call you back,’ he said, and rang off.

Snow lined the brim of Lancaster’s hat, and his wet boots squelched until he reached the foot of the bed. He didn’t take off his hat or gloves.

Bloodless greetings were exchanged.

Darby had returned to bed, and Lancaster leaned towards her slowly, deliberately, the way you did when you were about to impart a particularly harsh life lesson to a child. His cheeks were smooth, and she saw a small nick along his jawline. Apparently in the midst of all the chaos he had found the time to shave.

‘You’re goddamn lucky I’m not bringing you up on criminal charges,’ Lancaster said to her.

‘You had your chance yesterday,’ Darby said.

‘I’m talking about that interview you and Hoder set up. You deliberately provoked this guy, and for what? Two of your people are dead, one’s clinging to life, and I’ve got another butchered family. Their deaths are on you.’ Lancaster pointed at her as he said it.

Darby said nothing.

Coop had something to say. ‘Chief Robinson signed off on it.’

‘Which is exactly why we’re having this conversation.’

Darby swore she saw a grin tugging at the corner of Lancaster’s mouth.

‘Effective immediately, all current and past Red Hill Ripper investigations have been transferred to my office,’ Lancaster said. ‘That means Red Hill is no longer involved in any way, shape or form. That also includes you two.’

The hospital phone on her bed rang. Darby ignored it.

‘Pick it up,’ Lancaster said to her. ‘It’s for you.’

She brought the receiver up to her ear. Her good eye never left Lancaster’s face.

‘McCormick.’

A deep, rumbling voice spoke on the other end of the line: ‘Dr McCormick, my name is Tom Sutherland. I’m the attorney general for the state of Colorado, and this is a courtesy call to let you know that your services, as well as the FBI’s, are no longer required in Red Hill. You are not to involve yourself in any investigation. Fail to comply and we’ll be forced to file an obstruction of justice charge – and that’s just the appetizer. Do we have an understanding?’

‘No,’ Darby said into the receiver. ‘We don’t.’

‘What did you say?’

Darby hung up. ‘Anything else, Teddy?’

‘Stay the hell out of my investigation,’ Lancaster said. ‘The second this storm ends, you two are on the next plane outta here.’

The snow is no longer coming down hard and fast, like a great, white curtain, and the wind has died down considerably. I can actually see more than three feet in front of me, and the major roads are being ploughed, making driving easier. Places like Happy Valley Auto are still covered in a blanket so thick and wet the snow almost comes up to my kneecap, and I can feel water melting inside my boots by the time I reach the payphone.

Sarah answers on the first ring.

‘How many minutes are left on your burner?’ I ask.

‘A little over ten.’

‘Is it fully charged?’

‘I charged it before I left the house, like you told me to do.’

I had called Sarah last night after I’d taken care of the trailer. ‘The suitcases?’

‘I have them here with me.’

Her voice is detached, listless; it’s as if all the wiring inside her has been yanked from their power supply. She’s been this way since I told her the truth about what I did inside the Downes house all those years ago, and about my plan to correct my mistake.

And, just as I feared, the truth has changed her. A man who wants to murder children is a monster, and monsters aren’t worthy of forgiveness or redemption. You either put the animal down or you turn your back and run as far and as fast as you can, without looking back.

While I never doubted Sarah’s love, I had underestimated her devotion and loyalty. She’s still in Red Hill, waiting at the prearranged meeting spot – a good sign.

‘Is it done?’ she asks meekly.

‘Almost.’

‘You didn’t tell me she was so pretty.’

‘What?’

‘The FBI consultant. Darby McCormick. She’s on the front page of the Item’s website. She’s beautiful.’

I feel my heart beating in my throat. I didn’t tell Sarah about her.

‘Is she dead?’ Sarah asks.

‘Not yet. I’m working on it.’

‘That’s why you want to stay, isn’t it? You want her.’

‘No.’

‘But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?’

‘I need to get rid of her and the other one. Once they’re dead, we’ll be safe.’

‘Then let me help you.’

I blink in surprise. ‘You’d do that for me?’

‘Why would you even ask me that? Baby, I would lay down my life for you.’

I feel the trepidation in my heart, and my throat is tight when I say, ‘Sarah, honey, I’m so sorry about –’

‘Stop. Tell me what I can do to help.’

‘I need to do something first. I’ll contact you when I’m ready.’

‘I love you.’

Once I’m seated back behind the wheel, I reach underneath the seat for the rope. It’s sealed inside a clear Ziploc bag. I unzip it and when I press my nose against the bag and inhale the blood and skin and sweat that’s seeped into the rope, in my mind’s eye I see Darby McCormick, her long, auburn hair spilling over her bare shoulders, every delicious inch of her skin exposed. My loins harden and thicken, and I feel the gates to the kingdom of heaven opening.

60

Eli Timothy Savran lived inside a tiny ranch house painted an awful robin’s egg blue. The inside featured mahogany-panelled walls and furniture that had been purchased sometime in the late sixties or early seventies, and the fabrics, curtains, throw pillows and rugs were all depressing shades of brown and dark yellow.

Darby crossed the front door’s threshold with Coop and stepped into a living-room with a low ceiling and a soapstone fireplace. The sliding glass door on the other side of the rug had been opened, along with the windows, and, while the air blowing inside the house was cool and clean and carried the pleasant, smoky odour of a nearby woodstove or fireplace, nothing could erase or lessen the permeating, baked-in reek of spoiled meat and fish that hung about the walls like an obscene presence. Her eyes immediately watered, and the food she had grabbed on her way out of the medical centre and eaten during the drive – a banana, instant coffee and an egg sandwich on soggy toast – immediately revolted inside her stomach. When Williams offered her a paper mask, Darby reached for it like it was a life preserver.

Coop gagged and then used the crook of his arm to cover his nose and mouth. ‘Jesus,’ he said in a muffled voice. ‘Maybe we should call a priest and have him perform an exorcism.’

‘It’s even worse in the bedroom,’ Williams said. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face, and, despite the cold air, the underarms of his blue dress shirt were marred with dark wet circles.

‘You feeling all right?’ Darby asked him.

‘I’m operating on zero sleep, and I think I’m coming down with the flu,’ Williams replied. ‘This way.’

The living-room bled into a small kitchen filled with a dull grey light. A patrolman she didn’t recognize, his mouth and nose covered by a mask, opened the cabinets with gloved hands. As she gingerly fitted the mask over her mouth, Darby heard the old refrigerator’s motor wheezing what seemed like a death rattle.

She heard movement coming from the hall behind her. She turned and saw the patrolman she’d met last night, Griffin, rooting through a bureau drawer.

‘How’s your head?’ Williams asked her.

‘Still on my shoulders,’ Darby replied. ‘How long have you been inside here?’

‘Long enough to know we found our man. This place smells like it was dipped in shit.’

Darby trailed Williams down a hall to the left of the door, the walls decorated with pictures of a stern-looking woman with a dead gaze and a frosted bouffant hairstyle. Darby’s head was pounding; she had to concentrate on where she stepped. Coop stuck close to her side.

‘I understand you came by to see me this morning,’ she said to Williams.

He stopped and looked at her, confused. ‘We talked for a few minutes. Don’t you remember?’

‘No,’ Darby said. ‘What did we talk about?’

‘Teddy. I came to tell you he’s taking over the case.’

‘He came to see us,’ Coop said, and told Williams about Lancaster’s visit to the hospital.

‘How’s Hoder doing?’ Williams asked after Coop had finished.

‘It’s touch and go.’

‘I’m sorry. He’s a good man. So were the other two. They didn’t deserve to go out like that.’

Then she followed Williams into a wallpapered bedroom that looked like it belonged to an adolescent boy. The twin bed had old Star Wars sheets and a matching comforter. The bookcase across from it held paperback science fiction novels, action figures and spaceship models, many of which she didn’t recognize. Autographed pictures of Captain Kirk and Captain Picard were tacked crookedly to the wall above the bookcase.

On top of a small wooden desk Darby spotted a charging cord. She pointed to it and said, ‘Where’s the Mac?’

‘Don’t know. I didn’t find a laptop anywhere in the bedroom, so either it’s in some other part of the house or he took it with him. How do you know he uses a Mac?’

‘The charger at the end of the cord,’ Darby replied. ‘It’s the boxy, magnetic Apple one.’

Williams nodded, then used his forearm to wipe his face. Her attention had drifted up to the wall-mounted shelves above the desk. They were packed with thick computer texts that dwarfed the size of any major metropolitan city phonebook. Futuristic sci-fi weapons encased in clear Plexiglas boxes served as bookends.

‘We found a bottle of neomycin in his medicine cabinet,’ Williams said. ‘Savran gets it from one of those internet pharmacies. Take a look in the closet.’

Darby borrowed a pair of latex gloves from Williams. ‘Coop told me you talked to the guy in charge of the cleaning service.’

Williams nodded. ‘Ron Gondek,’ he said, and again used his forearm to wipe his face. ‘Gondek didn’t have much to do with Savran, either professionally or personally. Told me Savran was pretty much a loner. Kept to himself and preferred to work by himself. But he was reliable, showed up to the jobs on time and was never a cause for complaint, except for his BO problem.’

Darby opened the closet door. Pressed dress shirts, trousers and khakis hung from the rack, along with two suits. One was black, the other like the one the Tuttle woman had described – dark brown, double-breasted, a J. C. Penney label stitched on the inside.

Coop, standing behind her, pointed to the single shelf above the clothes and said, ‘Looky looky.’

To the left of the neatly folded wool sweaters were several rolls of duct tape. Behind them she found a box of tracer ammo and a clear plastic bag stuffed with zip ties.

‘Pick up one of those rolls and see if the manufacturer’s name’s on it,’ Coop said. ‘Our lab got the duct tape I sent them. They started work on it this morning and, last time I checked in, were still trying to run down the brand.’

Darby pinched a roll between her fingers and read the label printed on the inside cardboard tube. ‘It’s called “Tough Armour”,’ she said.

‘Never heard of it.’ Coop removed the satphone from his pocket.

‘Hold up,’ Williams said. ‘We need to have a talk.’