One by One (Роберт Хантер 5 Поодиночке) - Carter Chris (2) (читать книги бесплатно полные версии txt) 📗

‘Robert,’ Garcia said as he spotted his partner walking toward him.

‘What time did you get here?’ Hunter said, noticing his partner’s strawberry-pink-rimmed eyes.

‘Less than ten minutes ago, but I was awake when I got the call anyway.’

Hunter’s eyebrows arched.

‘I had zero sleep,’ Garcia explained and pointed to his head. ‘It’s like I’ve got a cinema in here. Now, guess which movie has been playing on my screen all night.’

Hunter said nothing. He was already looking past Garcia’s shoulder to the commotion around the third dumpster.

‘It’s our victim,’ Garcia said. ‘No doubt about it.’

Hunter stepped closer. The three officers nodded ‘good morning’, but no one said a word.

Mike Brindle, the forensics agent in charge, was kneeling down by the dumpster, collecting something from the ground with a tiny pair of tweezers. He paused and stood up when he saw Hunter.

‘Robert,’ he said with a nod. They’d worked together on more cases than they could remember.

Hunter returned the gesture, but his focus was on the naked male body on the ground. He was lying on his back, between the third and fourth dumpsters. His legs were stretched out. His right arm was by the side of the body, bent at the elbow. The left one was resting casually on his stomach.

Hunter felt his throat constrict a little as he looked at the man’s face.

There was none – no nose, no lips, no eyes. Even his teeth seemed to have rotted and corroded away. The eyeballs were still in their sockets, but they looked like punctured, half-full, silicone bags. In fact, the skin around his whole body seemed to have been sandpapered away. But the exposed flesh didn’t look red-raw. It had a pink-gray tone to it. Though shocking, it didn’t surprise Hunter that much. The alkaline bath had, in a way, cooked his flesh.

Hunter stepped a little closer.

The body had no fingernails or toenails left.

Despite the total disfigurement, Hunter had little doubt it was the same man they’d seen yesterday on their computer screens. When the man had finally died, his lifeless head fell forward, submerging his face into the alkaline mixture, but not his entire head. His short brown hair was almost intact.

‘He’s been dead for several hours,’ Brindle said. ‘The body is in full rigor mortis.’

‘Three twenty-six yesterday afternoon,’ Hunter said.

Brindle frowned at him.

‘He died at three twenty-six yesterday afternoon,’ Hunter repeated.

‘Do you know him?’

‘Not exactly.’ Hunter looked up. The three police officers nearby had moved back to the crime-scene tape. Hunter quickly gave Brindle a summary of what had happened the day before.

‘Jesus,’ Brindle said when Hunter was done. ‘That would explain the grotesque disfigurement to the body, and the odd change of color to his flesh.’ He shook his head, still shocked by what Hunter had just told him. ‘So you were not only made to watch, but he forced you to choose the death method as well?’

Hunter nodded in silence.

‘And you have the whole thing digitally recorded?’

‘Yes.’

With heavy eyes, Brindle looked down at the tortured body again. ‘I don’t understand this city, or the people in it anymore, Robert.’

‘I don’t think any of us do,’ Hunter replied.

‘How can anyone make sense of something like this?’

Hunter kneeled down to better examine the body. With the strong forensic light, every detail was visible. The smell was already crossing the line into putrid meat territory. Hunter used his left hand to cover his nose. He noticed little dents on the man’s feet, legs and arms. ‘What are these?’

‘Rat bites,’ Brindle said. ‘We had to scare a few off the body when we got here. There’s quite a bit of food in these dumpsters. This back alley services a bakery, a butcher’s shop and a small coffee shop stroke diner.’

Hunter nodded.

‘We’re going to sieve through most of the trash inside all four dumpsters in case the killer decided to discard something around here,’ Brindle said. ‘But after the story you told me, he doesn’t sound like he would be that careless.’

Hunter nodded again. His gaze moved over to the black man at the end of the alley. He was dressed in ripped and stained clothes, and wearing an old, colorless long coat that looked to have survived an attack from a pack of hungry wolves.

‘His name is Keon Lewis,’ Brindle offered. ‘He’s the one who found the body.’

Hunter stood up, ready to go ask some questions.

‘Good luck with that,’ Brindle said. ‘You know how homeless people love talking to the cops.’

Twelve

Keon Lewis was still sitting on the concrete step at the far end of the alleyway. He was about six foot four and stick-thin. His raggedy black beard seemed to be irritating his face no end. He would scratch it vigorously every few seconds. He had grimy, broken fingernails packed with dirt. His hands were scarred and blistered. One of them had a cut that seemed infected, the skin tender and swollen around a deep maroon scab. His eyes would gaze back at the scene every so often, but he would quickly pull them away and stare down at the ground or at his hands.

Hunter approached Keon and the officer standing by his side. Keon looked up, but again quickly averted his gaze. He rubbed his hands together like a cook seasoning a dish.

His lips were dry and cracked, and he kept on blinking as if he were wearing old, dry contact lenses. The physical signs all pointed to crystal meth addiction. He could’ve been in his thirties, forties, fifties or early twenties. Hunter doubted Keon knew himself.

‘Keon?’ Hunter said. ‘I’m Detective Robert Hunter with the Homicide Division.’

Keon gave him a tense nod but still kept his eyes low.

The officer stepped away, giving Hunter and Keon some privacy.

‘Listen,’ Hunter said in a calm, non-patronizing voice. ‘There’s no need for you to be nervous. No one is here to hassle you, I promise. Unfortunately you were unlucky enough to find the body of a homicide victim. My job is to ask you a few questions, that’s all. After that, you’re free to go.’

Keon scratched his beard again.

Hunter could tell that his face had once been kind and attractive, but drug abuse, alcohol and a life lived well below the poverty line had transformed it into something very different.

‘OK if I sit down?’

Keon scooted over to the edge of the step. His clothes stank of stale sweat and garbage.

Hunter sat down and let out a deep breath. ‘This is some messed-up stuff, isn’t it?’

‘Shiiit, man, that is real fucked up.’ His voice croaked as if he had a sore throat. ‘What the fuck happen to him, man? Someone skinned him?’

‘You really don’t want to know,’ Hunter said.

Keon picked at the loose skin at the back of his hand, twisting it painfully, as if trying to tear it off before going quiet for a moment. ‘Say, man, you don’t have a smoke, do you? I’m shaking like a bitch.’

‘I’ll get you one.’ Hunter motioned the officer to come closer and whispered something in his ear. The officer nodded and took off toward the other end of the alleyway.

‘This is a very quiet street,’ Hunter said. ‘Do you come here a lot?’

‘Sometimes. If I’m close enough,’ Keon replied, giving Hunter a sequence of quick nods. ‘That’s the reason I come here, you know what I’m sayin’? Because it’s quiet. You don’t have to fight to get a spot to crash. And sometimes you get some good food from the dumpsters, you dig? The food shops throw things away that you wouldn’t believe, man.’ Keon smiled a mouth full of decaying teeth. ‘You have to fight off the rats, but, hey, it’s free.’