John Steel Collection - Books 1-3

Chapter 20

CHAPTER TWENTY

The morning tabloids were packed with tales of a psycho killer in the city. The police had released a statement but had supplied only enough detail to whet the press’s appetite rather than satisfy any demand.

Sam McCall read the article and chuckled to herself. She had wondered how long the vultures had waited before accepting that all they were getting were a few crumbs of information. Leaving them with whole paragraphs of speculation to print.

Still, McCall was more interested in the sports page than bothered about what was fact and fiction?

It was Saturday, and tomorrow McCall would be at her mom’s for the usual family get-together. Saturdays were her ‘kick back and recharge her batteries’ days, and she would enjoy her relaxation time.

Why not, she thought? The bad guys were not going anywhere, and Josh and Tony were more than capable of handling things. But to be on the safe side, she had left instructions for someone to notify her if needed.

Sam McCall fell onto her brown fabric sofa and flicked on the TV. Her finger rhythmically pressed the remote’s button as she tried to find something decent to watch. Not quite a breakfast feature, but then the movie was better than nothing. It was an old Basil Rathbone Sherlock Holmes picture. McCall watched cross-legged, eating her milky cereal slowly, savouring the quiet of the moment.

As Sam McCall sat watching, she noticed her phone dance across the table, driven by the vibration alert of an incoming call. McCall leant forward to check the caller’s ID–it was the precinct.

‘Yes, what’s up?’ McCall answered, trying to sound annoyed but feeling somewhat relieved. Days off, who needs them, she thought? There’s too much to do out there.

‘Get your butt back here, detective; we got another one. The bastard’s back.’

Captain Brant was on the other end of the phone, and he did not seem happy. In fact, there was something different about his tone that she could not put her finger on.

It took but a moment to shower and change, and before she knew it, she was at the door of her car.

The address she had been given was Pier 15. McCall knew that was going to be a nightmare of a drive, so she blue-lit, finally reaching a safe parking area some distance from the scene. Still, it promised a beautiful sunny morning, and she figured that the walk would do her good.

McCall sat for a moment, composing herself for what they would find before she got out and began to walk. Then, looking back, she saw her car’s bodywork ominously stained blood-red by the sunrise as she headed for Pier 15.

The scene was chaos. Reporters were pushing and shoving to get the best shot, and microphones wagging like accusing fingers in the faces of anyone who might have answers to their questions.

Heading for the tape, McCall was immediately engulfed in a frenzy of press people. ‘No comment,’ was all they got from her as she pushed through the masses.

Finally, as an officer lifted the tape, McCall ducked and went through. Suddenly, seeing their chance, a couple of shifty-looking photographers tried to dodge the wire, only to be caught by the large, stockily built uniformed officer.

‘Get your ass back over the wire, people.’ His tone was loud and aggressive, and the two men backed away sheepishly.

Sam McCall glanced around and smiled at the performance, then carried on to the end of the pier.

McCall saw the crowd gathered in the food court on the way, peering through the sun-kissed windows. Flashes from mobile phone cameras lit up the glass that separated them from the crime scene.

‘Captain,’ she acknowledged him, ‘Guys.’

‘Hi, McCall,’ Brant returned the greeting.

‘What we got?’ McCall asked, putting on her sunglasses.

Brant pointed to a group of CSU officers huddled around a railing at the far end of the wooden floor of the boardwalk; they seemed to be pulling on something. McCall squinted up at her captain with a searching look but received a shrug and an equally puzzled response. The four detectives moved forward warily until they reached MD Tina Franks, standing by with her crew and a dolly ready to transport whatever they were all waiting for. ‘Doc,’ Brant spoke softly.

‘Captain,’ McCall replied and just gave a courteous nod to the others.

‘Well, I must say this is a weird one. All we were told was that something was hanging from the balcony.’ Tina Franks said, nodding her head towards the congregation of CSU guys in front of them.

‘So,’ said Brant, puzzled, ‘maybe it was kids messing around.’ His look was slightly annoyed as if he was afraid that their time was being wasted.

‘Well, that’s what I thought,’ Tina agreed, ‘At first. Until we saw it was bleeding.’

‘Bleeding?’ McCall’s face twisted with disgust as she spoke.

‘Yeah, two fishermen this morning tagged it by accident, and they said they saw blood in the water.’

They were interrupted by shouts from below. ‘We are ready here. You ready up there?’

‘Yes, OK, cutting now,’ someone replied.

The CSU carefully sawed through the rope holding whatever was hanging over the side. Another crew caught it below in a patrol boat. Tina hurried ahead while McCall and the others made their way to the other side, where the boat was about to dock, to see all the fuss.

As they got to the dock, they noticed a crowd of people in blue overalls with CSU lettering on the back of their uniforms. Some were taking photos documenting the scene, others just acting as a barricade against prying eyes.

McCall and the other three drew near the scene to find Tina bending over something; around three feet long, it was wrapped in what appeared to be brown-stained bandages. The MD cut the fastenings open carefully, using a scalpel from her medical bag.

The audience behind her reeled away as it fell open, holding their mouths.

The open sack contained what used to be a woman; both her arms and legs had been removed, but small amounts of blood were at the bottom of the cocoon, unlike the other bodies. Taking out a small white device that looked almost like a pregnancy testing kit, Tina dabbed some blood onto it and waited. She searched the body and sack for any evidence that may have been left behind, but she knew there would be nothing.

Tina Franks was only too aware that the killer was too clever to leave anything incriminating unless he put something there to deliberately mislead them.

The CSU team went about collecting their evidence. Checking for fingerprints and trace, but they weren’t hopeful for a hit anytime soon in such a public place.

Tina Franks examined the corpse for anything that might help id the victim. A birthmark, tattoo, anything, but she came up empty. Tina moved her fingers, working from the torso base and slowly moving up the body until finally reaching the head.

Carefully, she opened the woman’s mouth, noting that everything seemed normal. Then she opened an eyelid to check for any petechiae or other unusual signs.

‘Uh, guys, we have a new problem,’ said Tina, uncomfortable.

‘Why, what’s up, Doc?’ asked Brant, bracing himself against the sight and cracking his regular joke.

‘Her eyes are gone.’ Tina replied.

‘What do you mean, gone?’ replied Tooms, horrified.

‘I mean gone. Missing. No longer present. Gone.’ Tina stood up and waved the two orderlies to bag the body and take it downtown.

The atmosphere was tense, with Brant looking like he was about to explode.

‘OK, people, I have had enough of this dirtbag taking our city apart. We are going to find this son-of-a-bitch.’ He clenched his fist and shook it at them, more as a gesture of anger and promise than a threat.

‘Call in all shifts,’ he announced angrily. ‘We work around the clock if we have to, but I want this guy.’

The teams in front of him were New York City’s finest, and if anyone could get the killer, it would be these men and women.

McCall knew it and felt the surge of energy radiating from Brant in those few words, words that inspired everyone to believe that they could do the impossible.

From behind them came a voice that broke the silence. It was soft and neutral, with a hint of a British accent.

‘Maybe I can help?’ the voice said.

The group turned as one to see a man dressed all in black. He was perched on the backrest of a bench, his shiny black boots resting on the seat glinted in the morning sun. The long black jacket had fallen behind the backrest and flapped in the breeze.

‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Brant. Shocked not just by the arrogance of the suggestion that they required help but wondering how this guy had gotten past the uniforms into the crime scene?

‘You have got to be kidding me.’ McCall’s jaw hung slack at the sight of the man who had caused her so much trouble and kept eluding her. He was finally within her grasp, but why was he coming forward? And why at this moment? But right then, the only question she had, and it was a simple one, was not ‘Who are you?’ or ‘What are you doing here?’ No–the question she wanted to ask was much less complicated. It was, ‘Can I shoot him, Captain?’