Authors: Oliver Stark
88 Killer (19 page)
Apartment, Yorkville
March 10, 6.45 a.m.
T
he autopsy on Marisa Cohen found a third bullet. Harper had it in his hand. He needed an answer soon. Even if they caught Martin Heming, they’d need some evidence to link him to the murders.
Each bullet was too mangled and, without a cartridge, there was no way of matching it to a gun. But Harper wanted to know more.
Eddie was working with Hate Crime, conducting interviews with friends and relations of Marisa Cohen. So Harper brought Denise with him.
Denise sat in the car. ‘Where are we going?’
‘I need someone to look over the three bullets. Ballistics have nothing much, but I gave them to someone who used to work with us. He’s retired, works the odd case with the FBI. He’s one of the best. Hans Formet.’
‘What are you looking for?’
‘These bullets look different to me – so do the entrance wounds they leave. They’re tight, no expansion. Look, Hans is a genius. If anyone can find something, he will.’
‘Anything on the tail?’
‘No, he’s still in his apartment. Sleeping. He didn’t get back until after five a.m. What about Abby?’
‘We’re working on the note. Nothing yet. What am I here for, Tom?’
‘You’re here to certify I’m of sound mind and let me know if I’m not.’
‘But if you’re not, you wouldn’t believe me.’
‘Then get me to a psychiatrist as soon as you can.’
They both smiled.
‘I want to hear more about what Aaron said. You can talk on the drive over.’
Harper pulled out. Denise filled him in on the Nazi symbols used in the three murders and Harper listened intently. ‘It makes sense,’ he said. ‘You’re beginning to understand him.’
‘With Aaron’s help, I am.’
Harper and Levene arrived at the home of ballistics expert Hans Formet and walked up the steps.
‘What did the CSU find on the Capske bullet?’ asked Denise.
‘The initial ballistics report was inconclusive. They carried out some ballistic imaging on the bullet, but nothing came up on the National Network. There was too much damage.’
‘No way to tell if it was the same gun that fired both bullets?’
‘If the gun that shot this bullet had been used before, we wouldn’t be able to tell from the mangled slug we’ve got. We didn’t find the cartridges. They’d tell us more.’
‘So what the hell can Hans Formet tell us?’
‘I don’t know, but we’re going to find out soon.’
Harper rang the bell and waited. After a long while, Hans Formet appeared.
Hans was of Austrian origin. A short, balding man with small intense eyes, he was in a white coat, the picture of the anti-social scientist. Harper said hello. Hans smiled and stared at Denise.
‘How you getting on?’ said Harper.
‘Who’s this? Some inspector?’
‘Dr Levene. Psychologist. Working on the case.’
‘Don’t try to read me, Dr Levene, okay?’
‘We’re interested in bullets, not therapy,’ said Denise.
Hans eyed her for another second, then seemed to let it go. He turned to Harper. ‘I found something interesting,’ he said. ‘Something very interesting. You should come in.’
‘Thanks,’ said Harper, and the door opened.
Hans stared at Harper for a moment longer than was comfortable. ‘If you want something done properly, you come to me. Those new recruits at CSU are full of techniques, but they have no depth of knowledge. Everything is from a computer. No real-world experience.’
Hans smiled thinly and led Harper and Levene down to his lab. He waited for Harper to say something. Clearly Harper was supposed to acknowledge his old-school brilliance. Harper didn’t. He looked around at the images on the walls – all of them bullets and cartridges. ‘You like bullets, Hans?’
‘Yes, I like bullets. That’s called dry humor, isn’t it?’
‘If you ever got caught up in a murder investigation, you’d be a prime suspect,’ said Denise, staring at the obsessively neat closeups of bullets.
Hans led them past the workbenches to a desk with three computer screens side-by-side.
‘So this is where you get to play now?’ said Harper.
‘Since I retired, yes. Anyway, I like to do my own work out here away from those new guys with their smart shirts. I don’t like bright colors, you see. What did they find in these bullets?’
‘Nothing,’ said Harper. Denise watched from a distance.
‘Nothing is correct, Detective. But what did I get?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Harper. ‘What have you got for me?’
‘What have I got for you? Here,’ said Hans. A picture came up on the screen.
Harper looked at two close-up photographs of the twisted gray bullets. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘It didn’t take long – not long at all, considering that no one else spotted it. There is something unusual in your bullets. Your instincts were right, Detective.’
‘What did you spot?’ said Harper. ‘Come on, he could’ve murdered again in the time you’ve taken building up to the show.’
Denise Levene felt her interest growing as she stared at a magnified picture of a used bullet. A bullet that had passed through Esther Haeber’s body.
‘Look, here’s the Capske bullet. And here’s your bullet from Esther Haeber. They are both badly damaged. Much more deformed than you would expect. You can see that right away. I presume that is why the young technical specialists at the CSU labs could not identify them. They only know modern bullets. But even for me, this is not something I’ve seen outside of museums and I’ve seen everything post 1961. So that led me to believe that this was older.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes. This, Detective Harper, is, as you know, a 9mm Parabellum. But it is an unusual 9mm. Firstly, the metal is different from usual and so is the color.’
‘Looks like it got burned.’
‘It’s a different metal. Not a metal anyone uses to make bullets.’
‘What is it?’
Hans Formet put his hand on top of Harper’s. He whispered, ‘This, Detective, is an iron bullet.’
‘An iron bullet – what does that mean?’
‘Very rare in this size of ballistics. Very rare. So rare, in fact, that you have a connection between your apparently unconnected murders.’
Harper put the third bullet down on the desk. ‘This came from our next victim, Marisa Cohen.’
Hans pulled it out of the bag with forceps and turned it under his eye. ‘It appears the same,’ he said. He dropped it into a small dish and squeezed some droplets on it. They changed color. ‘Iron,’ nodded Hans.
‘But an iron bullet isn’t conclusive, is it?’
‘Iron is made strong by the addition of various impurities. Pure iron is very soft, whereas iron with the right mix of impurities becomes steel. So I had the iron content analyzed. The proportion of iron, carbon and other impurities.’
‘Okay, I get iron, Hans, but what does it tell us?’
‘Well, guess what I found? An exact chemical match. Not only are these bullets of a similar type, they are from the same batch.’
‘Is that admissible?’
‘Who knows what the DA would accept, but for a detective, knowing there is a real link is worth something in its own right. Correct?’
Harper’s skin was tingling. Hans was a showman all right. This was the first piece of real physical evidence, providing a link between the three murders.
‘The bullets might not be from the same gun, but they were manufactured in the same factory, at the same time, is that right?’ said Denise.
‘Yes.’
Harper caught Denise’s thinking. ‘A munitions factory must make a million bullets of the same type at the same time. How does this give us a link?’
‘It’s not absolutely conclusive. I never said it was. But who makes iron bullets, these days? And iron is different from lead. This match is not close, it’s identical. Same batch. How many killers are there in New York using old iron bullets?’
‘You’d say not many,’ said Harper.
‘One. No more,’ said Hans.
‘Can you tell me anything more about these bullets?’ said Harper.
‘I have to continue my work. At the moment, I don’t know what they are or where they were made. I will try for you, Detective.’
Harper stood up and let the idea swim in his mind. It was a material link between the cases. And that meant that he now had evidence linking three Jewish murders. It was potentially explosive.
North Manhattan Homicide
March 10, 8.04 a.m.
H
arper’s head was full of iron bullets as he ran up to the investigation room with Denise. She put her arm out, touched his. ‘What do you think it means?’ she asked.
‘Our killer is not new to this game. He’s tried before.’
‘What else?’
‘He’s not politically motivated. He’s killing people because they’re Jewish.’
‘Can we be sure? There’s just three murders.’
‘Each killed in similar ways with iron bullets. He doesn’t want to get caught, does he?’ Tom said. ‘If we’re right, then the man in prison for killing Esther Haeber is the wrong man.’
‘And that adds something vital to our profile. He’s stalking these people, killing them, then setting up other people and staging it to avoid us joining the dots.’
‘Intelligent, strategic, psychotic,’ said Tom.
‘Add brutal and determined. He wants to carry on. He really enjoys this. Like some . . . necessity, you know.’
‘A religious killer?’ asked Harper.
‘Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. It has that visionary zeal about it.’
‘God help us, then.’
‘Or just avoid helping him, if at all possible.’
Harper left Denise and marched into Captain Lafayette’s office. ‘I got a link for you.’
Lafayette stood up. ‘Really? Evidence?’
‘Yes, real evidence.’
‘Go on, tell me.’ Lafayette moved round the desk. ‘We’re getting busted on this by the hour. They want to know why Lukanov walked. I need some good news.’
Harper produced a printout of Hans Formet’s photographs. ‘We’ve discovered a link between the bullets found at the Capske scene and the Esther Haeber and Marisa Cohen scenes. It links each murder.’
‘What’s the link?’
‘The bullets are all made of iron,’ said Harper.
Lafayette looked at the pictures. ‘What’s the significance of that?’
‘Iron was used to manufacture bullets at some times in the past, but it’s rare. These bullets are very rare, therefore linked, Captain.’
‘Coincidence?’
‘No.’
‘Come on, what you got? Three bullets made of iron, separated by four months, one on a case with a conviction? You know, Harper, even your fans wouldn’t buy this.’
‘It’s a link.’
‘Could it be contamination?’
‘Please, Captain. This is a breakthrough. I nearly choked. There’s some animal on the loose, taking these people out because they’re Jewish. I think we’ve got a serial killer at work.’
‘It’s not a complete picture, Harper.’
‘Complete enough. I need to take these homicides together. We need a task force. I’ll want a liaison with Brooklyn Homicide. We have to reopen the Esther Haeber case.’
Captain Lafayette sat back down and directed one of the fans on his desk towards his face. ‘Are you sure it’s enough? I know you want this, but we’ve got to be sure, Harper.’
‘Captain, I need some authority here. I need to take this forward. You’ve got to trust me on this one.’
‘The iron’s not enough. I need more. Go and check out this guy who got jailed for the Haeber murder.’
‘I’m on my way soon as we’re through here. But you’ve got to understand that the iron matches. There’s an exact chemical fingerprint to iron. These three bullets were from the same batch.’
‘You got anything that matches that bullet to a particular gun?’
‘No, it’s mangled all out of shape. But the chemical properties are identical.’
‘Bullets are made in big batches, Harper. Big, big batches.’
‘But this is not what bullets are made of now. No one uses iron today. These are incredibly old bullets. Possibly antiques.’
Lafayette pushed his chair back and stared up. ‘Okay, Harper. I’ll take your word. We’ll get some help. Run with it. But we got to talk to people about how to handle this. You know what this is.’
‘Of course I do. Some psychopath is killing Jews.’
North Manhattan Homicide
March 10, 11.05 a.m.
E
ddie and Denise nodded silently as Harper talked through his visit to see Bruce Lyle, the man imprisoned for the murder of Esther Haeber.
‘So you’ve got nothing to show for your efforts?’
Harper shrugged. ‘He’s not the guy, in my opinion, but we need evidence to get the case re-opened and that means catching the real killer. He says he was framed – that someone planted the rings. I think our killer chose an easy target. They found illegal firearms and cocaine in his place, so he’s got three violations to serve.’
‘But he’s no killer?’
‘No.’
‘What else you got?’ said Eddie.
‘We’ve got something on the note from the kidnapper. It’s got mildew on it, so it was written somewhere damp. But the main thing is the typeface and ink. It’s strange.’
‘How?’
‘They’ve got a pretty full database of typewriters and fonts down there. They tell me this is something unusual.’
‘Just like the bullets.’
‘Right,’ said Harper. ‘They say this is from an antique typewriter. German make, around 1934. They are pretty sure it’s a Torpedo Portable Typewriter. It was designed for military use and only wrote in black. Not red ink.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’ said Eddie.
Denise nodded to herself. ‘This guy is delusional. Aaron noticed the Nazi symbols in the way he kills. Now an antique German typewriter. He’s not a neo-Nazi, Harper. He thinks he
is
a Nazi, one of the originals.’
‘It’s a very rare model,’ said Harper. ‘Not many people deal in these. We might be able to track something.’
‘Give me the printout,’ said Eddie. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ He got up and walked towards Gerry Ratten.
Harper’s cell phone rang and broke the somber mood. It was Hans Formet.
‘You need to come round,’ said Hans. ‘You need to come round now.’
‘What for?’
‘I know what your bullets are. I know where they come from. And this is strange.’
‘That’s great, Hans, we’ll be there as soon as we can.’
Within the hour, Harper and Denise were back in Hans Formet’s homemade lab, with a cup of coffee each, listening to the long rambling story of the man’s genius.
Hans clearly had not moved much since they’d last been there. He was bleary-eyed, with his hair sticking out in every direction. He sat on a stool with his computer screen to his side.
‘An iron bullet is rare – a 9mm Parabellum made of sintered iron is extremely rare. Take a look at this.’ Hans brought up a photograph of a bullet with a cartridge. The cartridge was black.
‘Looks like there’s a tux on a bullet,’ said Harper. ‘Like a bullet going to the Oscars.’
Hans laughed. ‘That’s a very good joke, Detective. A good ballistics joke.’
‘Come on, Hans, spill.’
‘So I sent the information across to some people I know, then I put it up on the web and got a hit. They said it might be an antique bullet. Something from the Second World War.’
Harper and Denise felt the thoughts rushing through their heads. ‘Tell us more,’ said Harper.
‘The Parabellum itself was introduced for the German Service revolver, the Luger Pistole. It’s one of the most popular cartridges in the world now. But back then, it was new.’
‘So this is a German bullet?’
‘Oh, yes. Manufactured in Poland, probably.’
‘Go on.’
‘Okay, well, sorry for the history lesson, but the Parabellum originally had a lead core. A better bullet, of course. An iron bullet is too hard. The purpose of a bullet is to cause damage in the flesh. An iron bullet can zip right through the body with no expansion. It is the expansion that brings someone down. However, in about 1942, war-time lead supplies were running low so they started making the Parabellum with an iron core.
Miteisenkern
. They had stocks of these bullets left over after the war. Quite often, if you try to buy a bullet from that time, it will be an iron-cored bullet.’
‘Always the pragmatists, the Germans.’
‘Yes, indeed. Now, the bullet with the iron core was given a black jacket to differentiate it.’
‘So what more do we know? Why is someone using antique bullets?’
‘Come on, Harper,’ said Denise. ‘They’re not just antique bullets, they’re army supplies. These are Nazi bullets, Harper – original Nazi bullets. He’s playing the whole part, he
is
the whole part.’
Harper felt the hair on his neck rise.