Текст книги "The Gift of Death"
Автор книги: Sam Ripley
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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)
26
‘No way,’ said Kate, her voice rising. ‘It’s completely out of the question.’
‘But why not?’ said Cassie. ‘It’s the kind of thing you would do.’
‘Do you really need me to spell it out to you? Look, Cassie. I don’t mean to sound harsh, but it would be way too dangerous.’
‘But I could be of real help to you. You know that.’
‘I’m sure you could. But what you have in mind is just plain foolhardy. It’s crazy. The idea of you putting yourself at that kind of risk just freaks me out. Imagine if something happened to you. And besides, it wouldn’t be professional of me to let you do it.’
‘But you wouldn’t be acting as a professional. You’d be doing this, this – whatever it may be – from the point of view of a private individual. That’s right, isn’t it?’
‘Well, yes, but –‘
‘But what?’
‘Look, I can’t talk about it now. The traffic is starting to move. But there’s no discussion about this Cassie. It’s not going to happen – period.’
Kate heard nothing but crackle down the line.
‘Cassie?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’ll see you back at the house. And promise me you’re not going to do anything stupid.’
There was an uncomfortable silence on the line. ‘Promise me?’
‘Okay, mom,’ said Cassie, adopting the tones of an aggrieved adolescent. ‘I promise.’
‘That’s my girl.’
Kate cut the connection as she pressed her foot down on the accelerator. As she drove along Santa Monica Boulevard she thought about Cassie’s crazy plan. She had wanted to stage some kind of entrapment, in which she returned to her Venice Beach apartment, alone, in order to lure whoever it was – this sick fucker – to her. The cops could be stationed outside and, as soon as he entered her apartment, the police could be sent in. Of course, the plan was to capture him, but even if he escaped they would be one step nearer. The secret lay in Cassie’s hands, her fingertips. All she needed, she said, was a chance to feel his face. Then she could work with Kate to form an image of him, just as they had done with Gleason.
Kate didn’t doubt Cassie’s conviction, or her expertise at face-reading. And she was sure that the resulting clay sculpture would prove immensely helpful – if not central – to the investigation. What if they had an armed officer secreted inside the apartment? But even that wasn’t a guarantee of Cassie’s safety. Given the sadistic nature of the killer’s personality – the dead baby, the sliced fingertips, the ripped-out tongue – he would have no qualms about snuffing out her life. Actually, Kate knew he could do a whole lot worse things to her than simply killing her. A quick and easy death wasn’t his style.
She tried to think about what she should do next. In the trunk of her car she had all the information she had amassed on the Gleason case. In addition to the sculpture, she had her notes, newspaper clippings and case files detailing the crimes. She had a transcript of the court proceedings and Gleason’s psychiatric report. She hoped that somewhere in the boxes she would find a clue to what was happening.
As the flow of traffic slowed she dialled Josh’s number. She got his voicemail and left a short message asking him to call her cell. She felt a sting of regret somewhere near her heart. It would have been better if she had never met him, she told herself. Almost as soon as she had formulated the thought she knew it wasn’t true. No matter how hard she tried to convince herself otherwise Josh had been the best thing that had happened to her in a long time. If only they had been able to make it work. If only Jules hadn’t come into his life. If only she had been less neurotic about getting pregnant. If only she had paid more attention to him and had been less obsessed about the mechanics of fertility perhaps they might have been able to enjoy a future together.
She tried to imagine what life would be like as a single mom. Hard, for sure. But she was certain she could do it. It wasn’t as if she had to worry about money like so many single parents. And she had a great network of friends whom she could draw upon to help. She ran through a list of people she had been too busy to call, promising herself to arrange dates with all of them once this was all over. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t had the chance to tell them of her pregnancy.
She had tried to prepare herself for the fact she might lose the baby. After all, she knew it was quite common in women her age. But she wanted this baby more than anything in the world. She was going to fight for it.
Just then her phone rang. Josh’s name flashed on her cell.
‘Hi, Kate. Are you okay?’
‘Yeah, sure. I wanted to ask whether I could drop by.’
‘You mean later at the loft?’ His voice sounded bright, expectant.
‘No, I mean now. At work.’
‘Work’ was the expression Josh had always used when he had mentioned his job. As if serving as a high-ranking detective with the RHD was the same as working in the office of a bank or in sales for a multinational.
‘It might be a bit difficult at the moment. There’s been another development.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Dale Hoban called 911 this morning, reporting coming home from work to find two eyeballs on his pillow.’
‘Jesus.’
‘We’re going round there now to talk to him.’
‘Can I come?’
‘What?’
‘Can I meet up with you?’
‘Kate, you know that’s not procedure.’
‘But I think I could help.’ She started to speak faster now. ‘I remember Hoban. He trusted me, liked me. He might be prepared to say something to me that he wouldn’t do to you. No offence, Josh. But it’s not as if he’s got fond memories of the LAPD. Especially after getting kicked out of the force.’
Josh thought about it for a moment.
‘Okay. But give me some time with him first. We need to take his statement, secure the scene, then there’s the forensics and-’
‘Josh?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Forgetting something?’
‘What?’
‘I do know the procedure.’
‘Okay, point taken.’ There was a pause on the line. ‘Call me in three hours.’
‘Sure thing. What’s the address?’
‘1482 Union Avenue, Korea Town.’
‘Got it.’
‘I’ll call you.’
She pulled off Santa Monica into the parking lot of a diner. There was no point going back to her mom’s house if she had to drive down to Korea Town. But she could use the time to do some research. She bought a take out coffee and returned to her car, waving to Naylor as she did so. She opened the trunk, sorted through one of the boxes, took out the file containing her collection of notes on the Gleason case and started to read a newspaper report on the penultimate day of the trial.
TWISTED TORTURER FOUND GUILTY, GLEASON’S VICTIMS NUMBER AT LEAST 5
Yesterday Robert Gleason, the notorious serial murderer and rapist, was found guilty on multiple counts of murder. Gleason, 47, had led a vicious and brutal campaign of terror throughout Los Angeles, southern and northern California and Nevada, said state prosecutor Jordan Weislander.
His known victims were five young women – Teresa Collins, 17, Frances Silla, 19, Elizabeth Ventura, 18, Tracey Newton, 18, and Jane Gardener, 20. His last victim Cassie Veringer, 21, a blind student attending UCLA, was raped by Gleason before escaping. If it hadn’t been for her bravery, Weislander said yesterday, Gleason’s killing spree would certainly have continued.
‘Even though she was in terrific pain Cassie Veringer worked with a forensic artist to build up a 3-D image of her attacker,’ said the state prosecutor during Gleason’s trial at the Los Angeles Superior Court. ‘She had the foresight to feel Gleason’s face during her ordeal. Her bravery and selflessness resulted in the arrest and subsequent prosecution of a brutal rapist, torturer and murderer.’
During the prosecution’s case evidence was presented in court to show that Gleason, a former car mechanic, had drugged his victims, before going on to rape and sodomize them in his customized van, which Weislander had likened to a ‘travelling circus of torture’. In some cases he kept his captives alive for as long as six days before killing them by asphyxiation. The bodies of Teresa Collins – his first victim, who disappeared on the night of November 8 1992 – and Jane Gardener were found in the San Gabriel mountains. The remains of Frances Silla, Elizabeth Ventura and Tracey Newton were discovered in the Mojave Desert.
Outside the courtroom Bill Collins, the well-known L.A. businessman, and the father of Teresa Collins, thanked everyone who had helped bring Gleason to justice.
‘My wife and I want to express our thanks to the police and the prosecutor’s office for everything they have done to bring Gleason to trial,’ he said, reading from a prepared statement. ‘This monster should never go free. He took away the lives of not only our dearest daughter – our only child – but also the lives of four other young women, women who would have led creative and productive lives had it not been for this abomination of humanity. He should face the maximum sentence. Execution is too good for him.
‘Our deepest thanks also go to Cassie Veringer, a young woman who had the courage to fight back. It is thanks to her that Gleason will never again prowl our parking lots, campuses and college buildings hunting for our young women, thanks to her that his killing spree is over.
‘I do not want to criticize the investigation at this moment in time. In many ways, I think the police have done a wonderful job. However, I have always believed – and still do believe – that Gleason did not work alone. I am convinced that he had an accomplice – a man who is still out there. The police say there is no evidence for such a claim. They cite the fact that Gleason has stated – indeed, boasted – about how he worked alone.
‘Yet witness statements gathered by the firm of private investigators hired by me show that Gleason was seen near the scene of the abductions with an unidentified man.
‘In many ways I do hope I am wrong about this. We could all sleep more soundly in our beds if it was not the case. But if I am right then there is another monster who is still on the loose.’
Amongst the sheaf of clippings Kate found a handful of reports from other newspapers and news sources, all summarising the trial. Some contained conjecture about Gleason’s motivation – a father who had been physically abusive, the absence of a mother, the loss of his wife in 1974. His two children were mentioned in the pieces, but none of the reporters knew about Roberta’s central place in Gleason’s warped psychology. Even though she had a serial killer for a father at least she had been allowed to live her life in some sort of peace.
Gleason’s square-jawed, pock-marked face stared at her from the cuttings. Many of the newspapers carried comparisons of the model she had created with a photo of Gleason. There was an in-depth report on how Gleason had been caught, naming and quoting most of the people involved and another feature in a weekend magazine supplement detailing her own work on the case. She looked at the picture of herself that had been taken in her laboratory and saw a different person. There was a hardness to her face, a tightness to her mouth that she didn’t recognize. There were faint shadows under her eyes, evidence of a drinking habit that had been beginning to get a little out of control. How had she survived in that job for so long? Thank goodness she was out of it now. It was a constant refrain, a mantra almost. But she knew it was not entirely, totally, true. There was part of her – her more altruistic side – that was still drawn to it. But the instinct for self-preservation had won out.
She turned to her case notes and read through her interviews with Cassie. Here too were her preliminary sketches – measurements documenting the distances between his eyes, forehead and nose, and numerous pencil drawings that tentatively plotted out the dimensions of Gleason’s features and the shape of his jawline. There were Polaroids of her early workings in clay, photographs that documented the process of refinement and then finally an image that both she and Cassie felt satisfied with – a three-dimensional clay model that somehow had managed to capture Gleason and the depth of his evil.
She shivered as she took out a blank piece of paper from the file. As she held her pencil she saw that her hand was shaking ever so slightly. What was there to be afraid of? Gleason was dead, everyone knew that. But that was the terrifying thing.
At the top of the page she wrote the words THE GLEASON CASE. Then she began to make a chronological list of events, starting with his birth in 1951, his marriage to Mary Evans in 1971 and the birth of their son, Ryan. She carried on, noting the death of Mary in 1974, in the process of giving birth to her daughter, Roberta, the subsequent abuse of Roberta throughout her teenage life and her flight from home in 1992, the same year in which Gleason started his attacks, beginning with Teresa Collins and ending with Cassie Veringer in 1997. Gleason was sentenced in 1998, two years later he committed suicide while on death row and in 2004 Ryan was found dead in a car crash. What a mess. If toxic families did exist then the Gleasons were downright radioactive.
She started to doodle on the paper – great loops that gradually formed themselves into elaborate floral patterns – as she began to lose concentration. She thought of everything that had happened since the Gleason case – the death of her father, Josh, her decision to leave her job, the fertility treatment, the end of her relationship, and now her pregnancy. A baby – her baby – due in seven months. It seemed unreal somehow, more dream than reality.
The thought that there was someone out there who wanted to harm her and her unborn child brought her out of her reverie. An image of that baby girl floating in the sea flashed through her mind. She didn’t have time for daydreaming, for wondering what might have been.
She was going to have to fight to stay alive.
27
‘Hi, Dr Cramer, long time, no see,’ said Dale Hoban, easing himself up from the kitchen chair.
‘You’re a stubborn bastard,’ she said, as she greeted him. ‘You never would call me Kate.’
‘It just doesn’t seem right.’
‘Well, you’ll have to make an effort now. I’m no longer working with the department.’
‘You’re not?’
She guessed he wasn’t much of a newspaper reader. ‘Found it was getting too much and I quit – two years ago now.’ She didn’t mention her overwhelming urge to get pregnant. ‘Too stressful.’
‘You and me both,’ said Dale. ‘But I think you know all about that.’
Kate smiled weakly as she studied Hoban’s sagging features, tired skin and sad, bloodshot eyes. The arrest of Gleason should, by rights, have propelled him out of traffic and into something like homicide or narcotics. He told his bosses that he was happy pulling people over for driving offences and checking the number of passengers in car pool lanes. In truth, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to handle a more demanding position. The arrest of Gleason was his one moment of glory – and also his undoing. He loathed the attention it brought, his name being in the papers and on the news. He started to drink more. His marriage broke down. And finally, he had been caught driving his patrol car under the influence. His bosses offered to set him up with therapy – he’d even tried a couple of sessions – but talking about himself, well, it just didn’t seem dignified. Then, after a few drinks, he’d had a traffic accident – he lost control of his car one afternoon and crashed into a school bus – which proved to be one step too far for his chief. Although Kate had offered herself as a character witness should he need her – she knew all about the stress of the Gleason case – he refused to fight the proceedings. And so, in a way, Gleason had claimed another victim.
‘How are you?’ she asked.
‘Fine. Just fine.’
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
‘Like I said to Detective Harper I came home from work at eight, made myself some breakfast– ‘ Kate caught the smell of whisky on his breath. ‘ – before going into the bedroom to get some sleep. It was then that I saw the – those things – on the pillow. I rang 911 straightaway and – and that’s about it.’
‘Do you have any idea who could have been behind this? Made any enemies lately?’
‘What, you mean besides my ex-wife?’
‘Dale, you can’t have been that bad a husband.’
‘According to her I was up there with the worst of them.’
‘But seriously – is there anyone who wishes you harm right now?’
‘Can’t think of anyone – apart from the white trash family who live downstairs. I’ve threatened to report them on a number of occasions, and got nothing but abuse back.’
‘Do you think that -?’
‘What?’
‘That it’s related to – to – Gleason.’
‘The guy’s dead.’
‘I know. But perhaps there’s somebody out there who, in a sick kind of way, wants to carry on his work. His “legacy”, if you like.’
‘Jesus. Is that what Harper believes?’
‘Neither of us can think of any other explanation.’
‘What about ex-cons who served time with Gleason?’
‘We thought about that. Tracked down five men who were in San Quentin at the same time as Gleason. As of today, one has been murdered and the other four are in custody. So –‘
‘So they can be ruled out?’
‘Seems like it.’
‘And the man who was murdered? What do we know about him?’
Kate smiled to herself. Even though Hoban was an ex-cop – and an ex-traffic cop at that – he still had the soul of the investigative hero. She explained what had happened to Garrison and outlined Josh’s theory about how the manner in which he had been killed illustrated a different type of murderer.
‘Sounds convincing enough,’ said Hoban. ‘But his death can’t be completely random. It has to be connected in some way.’
‘I agree,’ said Kate. ‘And that’s why I wanted to ask you some questions.’
‘I’d love to help you, Dr Cramer, but I can’t think of anything else to tell you that I haven’t already told Harper.’ He paused and studied her. ‘And anyway, I thought you said you’d resigned from your job.’
‘I have – I did,’ said Kate. ‘It’s just that –‘
Hoban’s bloodshot eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘That you can’t resist making it your business?’
‘I suppose you could say that. Listen, Dale, I know you’ve probably tried to wipe it from your brain – God only knows, I think I probably would have done the same in your situation – but I want you to think back to the time when you arrested Gleason.’
‘To my “moment of glory”, do you mean?’
‘I know you feel angry about how you were treated, bitter about what happened. But for fuck’s sake Dale, give me a break. Leave the sarcasm. For the families of those murdered girls the arrest of Gleason was a moment of glory. It meant he was off the streets for good.’
Hoban’s watery, sad eyes looked down at the floor. He reached out for his glass and took a slug. The occasional clink of the ice in his drink did nothing to dispel the awkward silence in the room.
‘Look, Dale, all I mean to say is you shouldn’t put yourself down. You did great that day.’ He looked away, embarrassed. ‘No, really you did. You were brilliant.’
‘A brilliant traffic cop, that’s all. And so great at my job – so good at protecting the public – that one day I ploughed my way into a party of fucking school kids.’
‘Well, that was fucking stupid, I must admit.’ The comment made Hoban smile. ‘Look – all I want is for you to try and remember anything about that day. I know you’re going to tell me to look in the files for your statement or see what you said to the reporters at the time, but I just want to go over it with you one more time. There might be something you thought was insignificant at the time, some detail, some feeling, some –‘
‘Dr Cramer, sorry to say this but it sounds as though you’ve been watching too many of those cop shows.’
‘Humour me, okay?’
‘Go ahead.’
‘Okay. Let’s go back to –‘ Kate looked down at her notes. ‘To January 30 1997. You’ve said in the past that it was an ordinary day, just like any other, right? You had finished your shift and you were driving down the Pasadena freeway on your way home when you saw a car, a few vehicles ahead, make an erratic manoeuvre.’
‘You sound like the traffic cop now.’
Kate raised an eyebrow.
‘Sorry,’ he said, smirking. ‘I’ll behave. Promise.’
‘So tell me what happened then.’
‘Okay,’ he said, taking a deep breath. ‘What happened then was that I put my foot down and switched on the siren. I pulled out and started to pursue the driver, who immediately increased speed when he saw me. A car chase ensued. I called for back up, as I was worried that he might hit one of the other cars on the freeway, cause an accident, a vehicle pile-up. Eventually I got up enough speed so I could pull alongside him. He was driving a large white van, with no side windows. I can still remember the plate number if you want it?’
Kate shook her head and waited for him to continue.
‘I wound my window down and gestured for him to pull over.’
‘And can you describe him for me? What did he look like?’
‘Dr Cramer, you know what he looks like.’
‘I know, but –‘
‘You were there in the courtroom, you saw him that day –‘
Kate reached into the black holdall at her feet and pulled out the clay model of Gleason’s head.
‘Is this him?’
Hoban’s eyes widened and the blood seemed to drain away from his cheeks.
‘Yeah, that’s him alright. Put that goddamned thing away.’
Instead, Kate placed the model on the table directly in front of Hoban.
‘Jesus, it’s like he’s in the room with us,’ he said. ‘Like he’s come back from the dead. Like he said he would.’
‘What?’
‘Well, I suppose that’s what he meant when he said it. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but now –‘
‘Dale?’
Hoban swallowed and ran a thick hand over his tired eyes.
‘I never mentioned it to anyone. I didn’t think it relevant.’
‘Never mentioned what?’
‘When I pulled Gleason over I was expecting trouble. I recognised him straight away from that image that had been sent out to every cop in the state of California. But he didn’t put up a struggle, just held his hands out. He had this blank look on his face, a look of resignation. Almost like it didn’t matter.’
‘And?’
‘As I was cuffing him, he turned his head and said, under his breath – Let’s see if I can get the words right. Yeah, that was it. “Watch out for another me.” Yeah, those were his words. That’s what he said. I didn’t think of reporting it at the time, but –‘
‘Oh my God.’
‘What do you think he meant?’
‘I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s happening right now. And it’s happening to us. Me, Cassie, Weislander, you. I’ve no idea how, but in some form or other Gleason is back.’
