One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) (читать книги бесплатно полные версии txt) 📗
‘We should take him in on “probable cause” anyway, and let him sit in a cell for a while just to teach his arrogant ass a lesson,’ Garcia said, unlocking his car.
‘That was probably what he wanted us to do, Carlos.’ Hunter got in and closed the door. ‘In such a high-profile case, it would’ve been excellent publicity for him and his company. I’m sure he had his lawyers sitting around the phone, just waiting for the call. If we had taken him in, he would’ve been back in his office within the hour, but not before his PA had contacted every newspaper and TV station she could get hold of. His arrest would’ve been deemed as a desperate action from our part, embarrassing the department and earning us a severe ass chewing from high up, if not suspension.’
‘Well,’ Garcia said. ‘I have a very bad feeling about this guy. I think that we should put him under surveillance.’
‘He’s too well prepared, Carlos. He knows that we can’t do that. We don’t have anything to justify the request and the expenditure, other than his arrogance.’
‘And a hell of a gut feeling.’ Garcia started his car and ran an anxious hand over his mouth. ‘Isn’t that what this killer has been doing all along, Robert – playing us from the start? He’s always been a step ahead of us. Like a chess player. He hasn’t made a move yet without first pondering what our response would be. And it looks like he’s got it right every time.’
Hunter said nothing.
‘Well, that’s exactly what Paulsen did to us in there.’
‘I know.’
Hunter’s phone rang in his pocket.
‘Detective Hunter, Homicide Special.’
He listened for a moment before disconnecting and looking at Garcia. ‘They’ve found yesterday’s victim’s body.’
Garcia’s eyes widened. ‘Where?’
‘Maywood.’
Eighty-Eight
The body had been found by a construction worker refurbishing a small, single-story, two-bedroom house near the Atlantic Bridge in Maywood. The killer had placed the dismembered arms inside a heavy-duty black-plastic bag, wrapped the body up in more of the same bags, and dumped everything inside the medium-sized construction dumpster that had been placed in the house’s backyard.
The press was already out there in force, and as Hunter and Garcia stepped out of the car they were hit by a wall of shouted questions and a thunder of camera clicks. Neither detective so much as glanced in the direction of the ravenous pack of reporters.
‘There isn’t much to see here,’ Mike Brindle, the same lead forensics agent from the previous two scenes, said as Hunter and Garcia reached the house’s backyard. He looked ready to leave. ‘At least not forensically. The killer never even entered the premises.’
‘How come?’ Garcia asked.
‘Well, the body was all wrapped up like a postal package,’ Brindle explained. ‘And then dumped inside that construction dumpster over there.’ He indicated the bright red dumpster at the end of the small yard. It looked to be about ten foot long, seven or eight wide and maybe five high. Two uniformed officers were standing to its right.
Hunter, Garcia and Brindle made their way toward it.
‘As you can see,’ Brindle continued, ‘the dumpster is pushed back against the yard’s back wall, which is only about a foot higher than the dumpster itself.’
‘The killer drove up the back alley,’ Hunter said, anticipating what Brindle was about to say.
‘That’s right,’ Brindle confirmed. ‘Nice and dark, easy to access, no one to bother him. He stops his vehicle directly behind the house, drags the body and the arms out of the car and quickly throws them over the wall and into the dumpster. Job done. Back into the car, and he’s gone. The whole thing would’ve taken less than a minute.’ Brindle pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, lit it up and took a long drag, letting the smoke escape as he spoke. ‘This killer is a planner. He’d probably been driving around for a few days, scouting for a place to dump his next victim. This house is at the beginning of the road, easy to spot from both sides, front and back. Anyone driving by can see that it’s empty and being refurbished. The bright red dumpster is also easily spotted from outside.’
‘And because it’s being refurbished,’ Hunter added, ‘the killer knew that if he dumped the body late at night, it would be found the next day by the working force.’
Brindle nodded and took another drag. ‘We’ve checked the back alley already. There’s nothing there. Solid asphalt, no tire marks or footprints. A few cigarette butts and gum wrappers, but none directly behind the house. I wouldn’t hope for much.’
They looked inside the dumpster – plasterboards, wood pieces, red bricks, broken tiles, rags and empty cans of paint.
‘The body?’ Garcia asked.
‘On its way to the coroner’s. You’ve missed it by—’ Brindle glanced at his watch ‘—twenty-five minutes. No point checking it here. The body was well wrapped up. If there are any forensics clues to be found, they’ll be on the body itself, or on the inside of the plastic bags. Better to properly unwrap it under a controlled environment.’
‘And you’re sure it’s our victim?’
‘It’s the victim, all right,’ Brindle said, retrieving a digital camera from his bag. He turned it on, switched it to view mode and handed it to Hunter. ‘I cut open enough of the plastic wrapper to expose the head.’
The first picture was a close-up of the man’s face. His eyes had already started to sink into his skull, and the skin around his face and neck had taken a greenish-blue color, making him look like an alien, or a horror film prop, but there were still enough features there for Hunter and Garcia to recognize him. They slowly flipped through the rest of the photographs – a few more close-ups, followed by some wide-angle shots.
‘I’ll email these to you as soon as I get back to the lab,’ Brindle said, checking his watch again.
‘Who found the body?’ Hunter asked, handing the camera back to the forensics agent.
‘The builder who’s refurbishing the house.’ Brindle pointed with his right index finger. ‘He’s in the kitchen with an officer.’
Hunter nodded and turned to face Garcia. ‘Do we have any of those printouts of the victim we handed the press yesterday?’
‘We have a few in the car, yes.’
‘Great, let’s get some of the uniforms to go around this street and some of the neighboring ones too. Maybe the victim was a local. Maybe that’s why the killer chose this house to dump the body.’
‘I’ll go get them,’ Garcia said, already making his way outside again.
Eighty-Nine
The door-to-door gave them nothing. No neighbor or shopkeeper in the vicinity of the house could offer any information regarding the victim’s identity. Many of them had already seen his picture in the morning paper or, worse, had watched the killer’s broadcast the day before.
Garcia interviewed the construction worker who’d found the body. He was a strong man, in his early thirties with tattooed arms, a shaved head and a bushy blond mustache. He and his father owned the small refurbishing company he worked for, and he’d been doing the same job for over fifteen years. He’d been working on that house for only five days, and the job was expected to last no more than another four.
The house belonged to a small property developer, Akil Banerjee, who for the past four years had been investing in disused and repossessed properties, cheaply refurbishing them and selling them on for a small profit.
