Текст книги "The Missing"

Автор книги: Chris Mooney

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Chapter 12

The lab’s footwear database consisted of a collection of three-ring binders.

Darby spent the rest of the morning poring through lifted samples of men’s boots gathered from Boston cases. The footwear impression Mary Beth recovered didn’t match any local cases.

During her lunch hour, Darby went online and sifted through two forensic message boards devoted exclusively to footwear evidence. While hunting, she found the name of a former FBI agent whose specialty was identifying footwear impressions. He had been used as an expert in court on several high-profile criminal cases.

Head pounding from hunger – she had skipped breakfast – Darby rushed down to the cafeteria and came back with a tuna salad and Coke. She swung by Leland’s office to give him an update. He wasn’t in.

The message light on her office phone was on. It was a message from her mother. Sheila had seen the morning news and wanted to know if everything was okay.

Sturgis ‘Pappy’ Papagotis popped his head into the office. ‘Got a moment?’ he asked.

‘Come on in.’

Pappy pulled out Coop’s chair. He had the curse of being the world’s youngest-looking man. He was a breath over five feet and had the kind of boyish face that made bouncers take a serious look at his license.

‘I ran your white flecks through FTIR,’ he said. ‘Aluminum and alkyd-melamine.’

‘Automobile paint,’ Darby said. ‘What about styrene?’

‘No, this was a factory job. It wasn’t done in an auto body shop. How familiar are you with automobile paint?’

‘Melamine’s a resin added to paint to improve durability.’

‘Correct. Acrylic-melamine and polyestermelamine are the main polymers that make up paint. Alkyd-melamine is one of the super alkyds enamels they started using in the sixties. A lot of the automakers today favor using a polyurethane clear-coat system. It has higher gloss retention, for one, but the biggest reason is cost. Polyurethane is a fast air-drying top coat while melamine top coats need to be baked. The paint chip you found, it’s the original paint job.’

‘What about color?’

‘That’s where I hit a dead end,’ Pappy said. ‘I ran the chip through FTIR and it came up blank.’

‘But that doesn’t mean anything.’

‘Yes, I know what you’re going to say – Fourier Transform Infared Spectroscopy is only as good as our computer library, and my failure to identify it, all it means is that we couldn’t connect the paint chip to a local case. So I tried the Paint Query Database system run by our Canadian friends. No dice. I’ll send a sample to the feds. Their lab stores the lesser-known, harder-to-find paint samples on their National Automobile Paint File database.’

‘Have you used the feds before?’

‘I’ve never had to go to them since PDQ generally does the job. If we strike out there, we could try that Farfegnugen-thing run by the Germans. Supposedly, they have the largest known paint sample database in the world.’

‘You have any contacts at the federal lab?’

‘I did take a paint course given by the head of the Elemental Analysis Lab, this guy named Bob Gray. I could give him a call.’

Tell him we have an abduction case and we need him to move this to the front burner.’

‘I can ask.’ Pappy was grinning.

‘I know, don’t hold my breath and wait by the phone,’ Darby said.

Leland still wasn’t in his office so Darby headed down to the first floor.

Missing Persons was tucked at the end of a long hallway. Standing behind the counter was a slim woman in a dark gray charcoal suit. The name on her ID tag was Mabel Wantuck. Mabel wasn’t smiling in the picture, and she wasn’t smiling now.

‘Good morning,’ Darby said. ‘I was wondering if you could help me.’

The look on Mabel Wantuck’s face said, Don’t bet on it.

‘I’ve come across some evidence which may be connected to a missing person’s case,’ Darby said.

‘You know I can’t show you –’

‘The actual case file, yes, I know, only a detective can see that. All I need to know is if the person is, in fact, missing.’

Mabel Wantuck took a seat at a paper-filled desk cluttered with several small framed pictures of two chocolate Labrador retrievers. She pulled out the keyboard.

‘What’s the name?’

‘I’m not sure of the spelling, so we may have to try a few variations. What are the search parameters?’

‘Last name first.’

‘Last name is Mastrangelo,’ Darby said. ‘Let me try and spell that for you…’

Chapter 13

Coop rolled a ball of Play-Doh between his hands while Darby explained the results of the Missing Persons search. She was bringing him up to date on the evidence when the lab secretary popped her head inside their office.

‘Leland wants to see you in his office, Darby.’

Leland was on the phone. He saw Darby standing in the doorway and pointed to the single chair set up in front of his desk.

Behind him was a wall crammed full of pictures taken at exclusive black-tie fundraisers. Here was Leland, the proud Republican, standing arm-and-arm with both George Bush junior and senior. Here was Leland, the caring Republican, standing next to the governor as they handed out Thanksgiving Day turkeys to the poor. To prove he had a sense of humor beneath all that Brooks Brothers clothing, here was a picture of Leland, the funny Republican, holding a copy of The Complete Cartoons of the New Yorker given to him at a book party.

Darby was thinking about the pictures on Carol Cranmore’s wall when Leland hung up.

That was the commissioner calling for an update. He was a bit surprised when I told him I didn’t have anything to tell him yet.’

‘I came by twice,’ Darby said. ‘You weren’t here.’

That’s what voice mail is for.’

‘I thought you’d want an update in person, in case you had any questions.’

You now have my full attention.’ Leland leaned back in his chair.

Darby told him about the paint chip first, then the footwear impression.

‘It’s a men’s size eleven, and the logo’s a perfect match for Ryzer footwear. The logo stamped on the sole of the footwear impression we found was their second and last logo before they were bought out in eighty-three and became Ryzer Gear. Based on my research, they only manufactured four models, which they sold through catalogues and specialty stores in the northeast. We’re talking a select group of customers. I tried our cases and struck out.’

‘So submit a copy to the feds and have them run it through their footwear database.’

‘Even if we ask them to expedite it, it will be a minimum of a month before they get around to processing it.’

‘I can’t change that.’

‘Maybe we can,’ Darby said. This afternoon I talked with a man named Larry Emmerich. He used to work for the FBI lab. He’s the go-to expert on footwear impressions. Emmerich’s retired now, hires himself out as a consultant. Not only does he have all of Ryzer’s old catalogues, he has vendor information and contacts. Plus, he’d be willing to look at it right away. If he can narrow down the make and model, all the feds would need to do is to run the boot impression through their footwear database. Emmerich has contacts at the lab. Running it through the database to see if it’s connected to any nationwide case would take a day, tops.’

‘And his fee for this service?’

Darby told him the price.

Leland’s eyes widened.

‘What did Banville say?’

‘I haven’t talked to him yet,’ Darby said.

‘Good luck selling him on that.’

‘If he won’t pay for it, I say we pick up the tab. The person who abducted Carol Cranmore has done this sort of thing before – at least twice.’

Leland was already shaking his head. ‘There’s no way I’ll be able to get a purchase authorization –’

‘Let me explain. The woman under the porch, Jane Doe, she thought I was this woman named Terry Mastrangelo. I had Missing Persons run the name through their computer. Terry Mastrangelo is twenty-two, lived in New Brunswick, Connecticut. Her roommate said Terry went out for ice cream. She didn’t take her car, she walked. She never made it home.’

‘How long has she been missing?’

‘Over two years.’

Leland sat up in his chair.

‘Terry Mastrangelo also has a son named Jimmy,’ Darby said. ‘He’s eight now, lives with his grandmother. That’s all I know. I don’t have access to the actual case file, so Banville will have to request it.’

‘It wouldn’t hurt him to take a look at VICAP, see if there’s anything mentioned in there, like your footwear impression.’

Darby was sure Banville had already consulted the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. ‘Here’s a copy of Terry Mastrangelo’s picture.’

Leland studied the piece of paper.

‘You definitely share a similar look,’ he said. ‘You both have fair skin and auburn hair.’ He placed the paper on his desk blotter. The woman you found underneath the porch, do we have any news on her condition?’

‘Not yet,’ Darby said. ‘As for her prints, they’re still running through AFIS.’

‘So the person who abducted Carol Cranmore is most likely keeping her somewhere – probably the same place where Terry Mastrangelo and the porch woman were kept.’

‘Now you know why I’m in such a rush to identify the footwear impression we found.’

‘I talked with Erin,’ Leland said. The blood you found on the wall is AB negative. Carol’s blood is O positive. Erin also found dried blood on the tan fiber and several spots on the T-shirt. The blood on the fiber matches the blood on the wall.’

Darby wasn’t holding out hope for a match on CODIS. The Combined DNA Identification System, while state-of-the-art, was relatively new; only the most recent cases were stored in there. Because of a lack of funding – each DNA extraction test cost hundreds of dollars – the majority of rape kits and DNA evidence sat in evidence rooms across the country.

‘Trace said the tan fiber is used in commercial rugs. That’s all I have.’ Darby stood.

‘Hold on, I want to talk to you about something.’

Darby had an idea what was coming.

‘Abduction cases are pressure cookers. Once the media finds the link between Carol Cranmore and Jane Doe – and you and I both know they will – they’ll be camped out here, and we’ll have people like Nancy Grace doing a countdown every night on TV until Carol Cranmore’s body is found.

‘I know you’re living with your mother at the moment to help ease her through her… situation,’ Leland said. ‘A case like this is very demanding on someone’s time. You may not be able to spend that much time with her. You have plenty of vacation time – and there’s family leave.’

‘Do you have a problem with my job performance?’

‘No.’

‘Then I guess you’re having reservations because my former partner was convicted of planting evidence on the Nelson rape case.’

Leland clasped his hands behind his head.

‘Not only did I tell you – repeatedly – that I was innocent, the grand jury cleared me,’ Darby said. ‘I wasn’t responsible for Steve Nelson being let go and raping another woman. And I wasn’t responsible for the media coverage either.’

‘I’m aware of that.’

‘So why are we having this conversation again?’

‘Because putting you on this case could bring us more media attention. You’re already on TV. I’m worried that the media is going to resurrect the Nelson case and drag it back into the spotlight.’

This case is going to have media attention whether I’m on it or not.’

Leland didn’t say anything, leaving Darby with the sense – and not for the first time – that he had privately come to some sort of conclusion about her. Leland Pratt was the kind of man who preferred observing people when they weren’t paying attention, recording their words and gestures and cataloguing them in that locked-up place where he held his true judgments of people. Darby, for better or for worse, often caught herself working twice as hard to impress him. She hoped she could impress him now.

‘I can run this thing, Leland. But if you still have some lingering doubts, if you don’t trust me, then put it on the table and talk about it. Stop denying me access to cases because you’re afraid I’m going to embarrass the lab. It’s not fair.’

Leland stared at the framed certificates and diplomas hanging on the wall behind her. Finally, after a long moment, he turned his attention back to her.

‘I want to be updated at every turn. If I’m not in my office, leave a message or call me on my cell phone.’

‘Not a problem,’ Darby said. ‘Anything else?’

‘If Banville won’t pick up the tab for the footwear specialist, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.’

Darby stepped into the office she shared with Coop. He was on the phone, flipping through a comic book. He had changed into jeans and a T-shirt with the slogan ‘Beer Is Proof That God Loves Us and Wants Us to Be Happy.’

‘I don’t remember Wonder Woman having breast implants,’ Darby said after Coop hung up.

This is the new improved Wonder Woman.’

‘Great. Now she looks like a stripper.

‘I see you’re not wearing your happy face. Would you like to play with the Play-Doh? I’m telling you, it’s great for stress.’

‘Our boss has some serious doubts about my abilities.’

‘Let me guess: the Nelson case.’

‘Bingo.’ Darby gave him the condensed version of her conversation with Leland.

‘Why are you grinning?’ Darby asked.

‘You remember that girl Angela I dated a few months back?’

The lingerie model from The Improper Bostonian?

‘No, that was Brittney. Angela was the British girl, the one with the diamond belly button ring.’

‘It’s amazing how you can keep them all straight.’

‘I know, I should belong to Mensa. Anyway, Angela and I were out for drinks one night, and I was telling her about work and mentioned Leland’s name. Seems the word prat over in the U.K. means idiot or fool. Try to keep that in mind as we move forward.’

Chapter 14

There was one stop Darby wanted to make before heading home.

Scrubbed clean, her hair still damp from the gym shower, Darby stepped into the main lobby of Mass General, Boston’s largest hospital. She didn’t need to stop by the information desk; she knew her way to the intensive care unit. She had been there once, to say good-bye to her father.

The sign posted outside ICU’s double doors read TURN OFF ALL CELL PHONES AND ELECTRONIC DEVICES BEFORE ENTERING. Darby shut off her phone, showed her ID to the male nurse sipping coffee behind the reception desk and asked about the condition of a woman brought in last night from Belham. He didn’t know – he had just come on shift – and pointed to the patrolman sitting in a chair outside a room at the end of a long corridor.

There is no privacy in ICU. Glass windows look into each room. Family members, faces shocked and scared, wait to take turns holding a loved one’s hand or, in most cases, to say good-bye.

Memories of her father crowded Darby’s thoughts, growing stronger when she passed the empty room where her father had died.

The old patrolman glanced up from his golfing magazine and examined her ID card. A web of broken blood vessels lined his nose.

‘You missed all the excitement,’ he said, stretching. ‘Porch Lady attacked a nurse.’

‘What happened?’

‘She stabbed a nurse with a pen. Doc’s in there right now. I suggest breathing through your mouth.’

The doctor was leaning over Jane Doe, listening to her heartbeat. Under the bright fluorescent light, Jane Doe appeared even more emaciated. She was on both an IV and a nasogastric tube. Her arms and legs were secured with restraints, and almost every inch of her gray-colored skin was covered with bandages or wrapped in gauze.

Darby moved closer to the bed and saw bright drops of blood on the sheets. The sick wheezing she had heard early this morning in the ambulance now seemed labored, painful.

Jane Doe’s eyes fluttered beneath the paper-thin eyelids. What are you dreaming about?

‘You’re with the crime lab,’ the doctor said in a surprisingly soft voice. It didn’t go along with her hard, plain face.

Darby introduced herself. The doctor’s name was Tina Hathcock.

‘I hope you didn’t come here for the rape kit,’ Hathcock said. ‘Someone from the lab already picked it up.’

‘No, I just stopped by to see how she’s doing.’

‘Aren’t you the one who helped her out from underneath the stairs?’

‘Yes, that’s me.’

‘I thought so. I recognized your face. You’re all over the news.’

Wonderful, Darby thought. ‘I heard she attacked a nurse.’

‘About two hours ago,’ the doctor said. ‘The nurse was checking the IV line and was stabbed repeatedly with a pen. She’s in surgery right now. Hopefully, they’ll save her eye.’

‘Where did she get the pen?’

‘We think she got it from the clipboard we post at the end of the bed. I understand she bit a police officer.’

Darby nodded. ‘He reached inside to help her. She thought she was going to be attacked.’

‘Confusion and delirium are symptoms of sepsis – a blood infection caused by toxin-producing bacteria. In this case, it’s Staphylococcus aureus. Several of the cuts and sores on her arm are infected with staph. We are treating her with a broad-spectrum IV antibiotic therapy, but staph has become particularly resistant to antibiotics over the past few years. Given her already weakened condition, and her compromised immune system, the prognosis doesn’t look good.’

‘When she was conscious, did she say anything?’

‘No. She ripped out her IV lines and then tried to escape. We had to sedate her again, which has been tricky, given her irregular heartbeat. I don’t want to keep her sedated any more than I have to, but we can’t afford another psychotic episode. Do you have any idea who she is?’

‘We’re still trying to find out.’

The doctor turned her attention to the bed. ‘As you can see, she’s emaciated. At this stage, what happens is vital organs shift into lower gear – the heart rate declines and becomes irregular. Most of her hair has fallen out from lack of protein. The grayish color on her skin is due to severe vitamin deficiencies. You see that fine, almost downy covering on her skin? Almost looks like body hair? That’s lanugo. We generally see it during the late stages of anorexia. It’s the body’s way of reacting to loss of muscle and fat tissue – sort of a last-ditch effort to keep the body warm.’

Darby stared down at the sickly, waiflike creature wheezing in the bed. She thought of the picture of Terry Mastrangelo and tried to see her the same way her abductor did – as an object, a means to an end. How long had she been missing? And what had she endured?

‘Can I borrow your penlight?’

‘Of course,’ the doctor said, reaching inside her pocket.

Darby pulled back the sick tent and examined the woman’s left forearm.

Written in blue ink, in tiny letters on the exposed area of skin between the bandages, were a series of letters and numbers: 1 L S 2R L R 3R S 2R 3L.

And underneath it, three more lines:

2 R R S 2L S R R L 3R S

3 L 2R S S 2R L R 4 R

The fourth line was illegible.

The doctor leaned in. ‘What in God’s name is that?’

‘Directions would be my first guess – L for left, R for right.’

‘That last letter, or number, whatever it was, it looks like she was writing and then had to stop,’ the doctor said. ‘Maybe that was when the nurse came in.’

Darby had been wondering the same thing. ‘Excuse me for a moment.’

ID was gone for the day. Darby called Operations and crossed her fingers, hoping that Mary Beth was on call. She was.

It would be at least an hour before Mary Beth arrived with her equipment. Darby took pictures with her digital camera for her files.

Jane Doe was heavily sedated, so the doctor was willing to undo the restraints so Darby could take close-up pictures. She examined the rest of Jane Doe’s body and didn’t find any other writing.

‘Someone from the lab is going to be here to take more photographs,’ Darby said after she finished. ‘You might have to undo the restraints again.’

‘As long as she’s sedated. I meant to ask you this earlier: Do you know why she didn’t attack you?’

‘I think I reminded her of someone.’ Darby took out a business card and wrote down her home number. She handed the card to the doctor. ‘That’s my home number. When she wakes up, I’d appreciate if you’d call me, even if it’s late. I’ll leave my cell on, too.’

‘When you find the person who did this to her,’ the doctor said, ‘I hope you all have the good sense to string the son of a bitch up by his balls.’

Chapter 15

Darby did the documentation work for Mary Beth. When they stepped back outside the ICU, Darby turned on her phone and checked her messages. There was another one from Sheila, asking her to call. She was worried; Darby could tell by the tone of her mother’s voice. The second message was from Banville.

Her cell phone battery was almost dead. Darby found a pay phone on the wall next to a pair of vending machines. Across the hall was the ICU waiting room, a small area with stiff plastic chairs and magazines wrinkled by sweat. A man with rosary beads stared at the floor while a woman cried in the corner underneath the TV playing a news report on the war in Iraq.

When Banville answered his phone, Darby brought him up to date on the day’s events.

‘I agree, the letters do sound like directions,’ Banville said after she finished. ‘I wonder how the numbers factor into it.’

‘It could be a shorthand of some sort.’

‘And the only person who can decipher it is still sedated.’

‘I asked the doctor to call me when she wakes up. I want to be there when you question her.’

‘I think that’s a good idea. It might help keep her calm. Let’s hope she wakes up soon.’

‘I hear I’m all over the news.’

‘Some reporter got footage of you climbing under the porch with Jane Doe,’ Banville said. ‘I bet our boy is getting real nervous.’

‘How’s the mother holding up?’

‘About the same as any mother would hold up in this situation,’ Banville said. The Lynn police went to Little Baby Cool’s last known address. He doesn’t live there anymore and – imagine this – he forgot to notify his parole officer. I’ll tell them about the footwear impression.’

‘I want to talk to you about that,’ Darby said, and launched into her reasons for hiring the footwear consultant.

‘It’s something to consider,’ Banville said.

‘The last FedEx drop is at seven. Emmerich said he’d work on it first thing in the morning.’

‘That’s a hell of a lot of money to gamble on something that might not pan out.’

‘What would Carol want you to do?’

‘I didn’t realize you were on a first-name basis with the vic,’ Banville said. ‘I’ll be in touch.’

Darby heard the sting of the dial tone. She hung up the phone, her face burning. Her attention drifted back over to the man holding the rosary beads.

In a flash she saw herself at fourteen, rosary beads in hand, pacing the worn-out carpet, waiting for her mother to come out of ICU where she was talking to the surgeon. Her father was going to be okay. Big Red had been in plenty of tough spots before; he was going to pull through this. God always protected the good.

Now, at thirty-seven, she knew better.

Darby thought about her mother wasting away at home and felt a cold, empty space hanging inside her chest as she walked toward the elevators.