She's Not There (18 page)

Robbie Brown ignored him. “Now correct me if I'm wrong, Agent Rice, but I do believe you're the lady who cleaned up the crime lab in DC, aren't you?”

I'm not modest. “Yes.”

Then he said to Fitzy, “We've got the best investigator in the country here with us, even if it is some kind of pro bono work.”

Fitzy said, “And you've got the reluctant ATF. Imagine that.”

Joe reiterated. “Homicide isn't my line of work. I'm just the chauffeur.”

Robbie Brown said, “Who said anything about homicide?”

Fitzy: “Me.”

“Fitzy, you're not a grand jury.” He turned his attention to Joe and me. “You two are vacationing?”

“Yes.”

Fitzy said, “Joe owns a house here. Comes every summer.”

Robbie Brown said, “Too bad you're reluctant, then. Your take, reluctant or not, would be valuable.”

“I'm not sure of my take.”

The commissioner ignored that, introduced us to his detective, to a pathologist from the coroner's office, to a forensic photographer, and, finally, to two troopers.

We took the commissioner and the detective with us; the others piled into Fitzy's car. Joe said, “Sorry about all the junk in the car, Commissioner. Like Fitzy said, I'm on vacation.”

The commissioner said, “Call me Robbie.”

But we noticed Robbie called the detective
Detective
, and so did we.

At the entrance to Rodman's Hollow, the troopers got out their yellow tape and closed off the trail at the road. Fitzy put a light on the roof of his car and the blue dome sent off its persistent flashing signal. Fitzy told them, “The problem is, this'll attract the entire island.”

The commissioner said, “Good. I want a strong buzz going. I want this fully in my jurisdiction. If we've got some slimeball selling tainted stuff to the kids out here and it's killed two of them, I think the governor is going to forget the story about the drugs coming from Connecticut. But we wait before we make any judgment, got it? First we determine if it's manslaughter; then we go from there.”

Fitzy caught my glance at him. His look was vindictive, I'd have to say.

Each member of the team had a powerful flashlight, and the pathologist carried a large portable spot. We weren't far into our slipping, gravelly skid down the trail when the photographer said, “How the hell are we going to get the deceased out of here? Can we squeeze a stretcher through all this growth?”

Fitzy said, “You're going to need a helicopter. Even if we could balance a stretcher, the deceased weighs too much to bring her up that trail.”

Robbie said, “Why didn't you ask for a helicopter when you had me on the phone?”

“Figured you'd think I was exaggerating.”

“I wouldn't have. I had a look at the pictures of the first victim before we left.”

Fitzy said, “You've got a phone on you, sir. You can get the helicopter.”

“Don't call me sir. You're my friend. Call me sir in front of the troopers, that's all. I'll see the body first and then I'll call. We'll have plenty to do while the copter makes its way over here.”

He didn't trust Fitzy. He'd still wait to see for himself. And I caught Fitzy's eye again.

Robbie Brown flipped open his cell phone about two seconds after the detective's light passed over Rachel Shaw's body. While he ordered the helicopter, Fitzy helped the photographer set up the big light. Robbie said, “Anyone identify the body yet, Fitz?”

“No. But we're pretty sure we know who it is. You'll have to get a family member once you've got her in Providence. I've got her address and phone number in my office.”

The pathologist bent over the body and pressed his fingertips to Rachel Shaw's thigh and then her shoulder. He said, “Rigor is fully set in. We'll never untangle her.”

I told him her condition was cadaveric contractions. I said, “Time of death is so important, isn't it?”

He pressed other areas of the vast field of flesh, her knees, her shoulders, her ankles. “Joints are locked. Yes. Cadaveric contractions. First time I've seen such a phenomenon. I thank you, Agent.”

The detective was gazing at the growth to our left, a mass of shrubs and saplings clinging to a rocky incline. The vegetation was crushed. “She was rolled down from up there. What's up there?”

Fitzy said, “The road.”

“We're going to have to determine just where on the road and block it off, too.”

Joe volunteered. “I'll go do that.”

The commissioner looked at him. “Appreciate it. We're obviously shorthanded here.”

The detective began putting markers around the body at spots where he felt something was present extraneous to the vegetation—mostly strands of Rachel's hair and pieces of snagged skin. And fibers from Rachel's clothes. Probably from Fred and his teacher friend's clothes, too. Rachel's skin was covered with scratches.

Fitzy knelt by the body. “Detective, I want you to look good at the face of the deceased. This girl died exactly like the last one did, experiencing some kind of terrible suffering. This is not the face of fright, is it? Seen plenty of those. You have too, haven't you, Doc?”

The pathologist said quietly, “Yes. Your words are my thoughts exactly. It's as if she died because her body could no longer bear the suffering it was subjected to. If she was having some kind of seizure when her eardrums ruptured—and her right eardrum is ruptured, can't get to the left but I suspect it's the same—all such an injury would elicit is a very serious earache. It certainly wouldn't kill her. So now we have two victims exhibiting similarities besides the nudity and the spasms, something very significant—broken eardrums. She and the other girl suffered some sort of intense trauma. We have all we need for a full-fledged investigation into wrongful death.”

I said, “I didn't know the other girl's eardrums were ruptured.”

“Probably didn't make it into the report. And besides that, both girls have shreds of cloth stuffed deep in their ears. Some kids stuff cotton in their ears when they're listening to loud music. But the music doesn't break their eardrums or no kid would have intact eardrums today.”

Fitzy said, “Well, I'm glad to know that, since the last place the other girl was seen was in one of the clubs, listening to music. Maybe she had her head up against the amplifier. Can't find a single person who saw her leave the place, though. Workin' on it. And I can't tell you, Poppy, how many things don't make their way into reports.”

Robbie said, “Fitzy, you only saw the preliminary report. We're finishing up now. We're trying to clean up, too. You know we are. But we won't meet your standards”—he looked to me—“or this lady's, for a while. Listen, I'd made a decision with the last girl to begin a full-fledged homicide investigation—just so my friend Fitzy here knows—but I was overruled. And now this fine woman from the FBI knows that too. This time, believe me, I will not be overruled by some asshole politician, believe me.”

Fitzy said, “You like your job, Commish. Don't go making any promises you can't keep.”

“I keep all the promises I make.”

The pathologist said, looking at me, “I can't imagine what the connection is here. A spastic body and broken eardrums. But I am relieved to know that we now have just about the best person around to find out what the connection is. To find out in a hurry. You'll do that favor for us, Agent Rice, you and that lab of yours. Cut some red tape?”

“I already told Fitzy I would. But my technicians will need to be in on the autopsy this time. So they'll have a report of their own with nothing left out.”

Robbie said, “Have them send us whoever you want, then. I'll put in my formal request for FBI assistance. Even though we don't meet the criteria here.”

He was talking the usual—mail fraud.

“Consider it met,” I said to him. “You have sure-fire criteria. We've got a sociopath, one who officially fits the definition of a serial killer. All our psychological profilers will be involved. And they'll start tomorrow.”

The detective's sigh was loud. “Serial killer.”

“Damnation.” The commissioner didn't want to hear it either.

I looked down at the remains of Rachel Shaw. What fury did the killer harbor that he would take a young girl's life? This was so far beyond a sex crime. He had perpetrated a cruel and inhumane brutality upon her. What motivated him? What made him choose these overweight teenagers?

I said it aloud, I couldn't help it. “What the hell did he do to them?”

None of the men answered. They had no idea.

The pathologist said, “The girls at the camp need to be taken off the island immediately. But when there aren't any more fat girls at his convenience, who is this maniac going to settle for?”

We all knew the answer to that. Fitzy gave it just the same. “He'll move on. He'll start killing overweight girls in Florida or California.”

I remembered Joe's words about the nouveau riche of Block Island—where they went in cold weather.

Fitzy had more to say. “Man, isn't it a shame that psychopaths always look like your brother, or the guy next door, or the fella who owns the local liquor store?”

We all knew what made it so hard to find them. They don't look like ogres, they look like ordinary people—like Fred Prentiss. And besides that, they get better at it each time, enjoy it more, revel in the power of continually eluding the police. After five victims or so, they leave calling cards, taunting us:
Catch me if you can, you dumbbells
. There would be no calling cards under my watch. I would get him before five.

It was to be a long night. Guiding the helicopter required reinforcements from a special Coast Guard team, with the equipment and know-how necessary to lift a struggling, drowning victim from thirty-foot seas. Up on the road, the two guardsmen who emerged from their helicopter said, “We can handle this thing. Not a problem.” None of us said, You might have a problem; we just thought it. Let them figure out how to do their job.

Once they were down in the Hollow, the young men were horrified. They could barely look at the body, let alone prepare it for the lift.

The basket they carried was piled with blankets. I said to the commissioner that we could cover her now that all the necessary samples had been taken, the camera put away. “I think that would make it simpler.” He agreed and so did the man from the coroner's office. So they took one of the blankets from the basket and did just that. Then the Coast Guardsmen wrapped and bundled Rachel Shaw as if she had hypothermia and tied her into the basket. After the guardsman in command gave the signal to lift the body, after she had disappeared into the belly of the helicopter, he apologized to us before he had himself hoisted up.

Fitzy said, “For what?”

“For my lack of professionalism. When I first saw her.” He didn't have to make any apology. We had all observed him in the final stages of securing the body. He was very gentle with Rachel Shaw, took care not to jostle her any more than was necessary. Just before she went up, he patted the basket. He wasn't that much older than she was. I wondered if she'd ever experienced a gentle pat when she was alive.

*   *   *

Later, at dawn, we gathered at the airport to see the police team off. It was then that Fitzy chose to confess.

“Commish, I found a piece of evidence when we first got to the body last night. I withheld it.”

Robbie Brown shut his eyes for just a moment. Then, “Why am I not surprised? Fitzy, for Christ's sake. Tell me first what the evidence is and then why you saw fit to withhold it till now.”

“Pair of glasses. Belonged to the guy who discovered the body. Dropped out of his pocket. They're in my office. I'll send 'em to you right away.”

“You don't intend to file a report, do you? That's why you've decided to tell me this, isn't it?”

“Right.”

“I take it you questioned the guy.”

“Yes.”

“Then at least tell me what he was doing there in the first place.”

“He and an unidentified woman were about to have sex a few yards from the body when he made the discovery. All the threads you people found are probably from his clothes and his guest's. Clothes they grabbed when they ran back up the trail. That's probably when the glasses fell out, when he picked up his shirt.”

“Jesus, Fitzy.”

“You can arrest him. But he didn't do it. See that he has his lawyer present and just question him as a material witness. Meanwhile, I'm going to find that lady.” He looked at his watch. “In about two hours, she'll be on the seven
A.M.
ferry, first ferry out. Last night, she decided to have a tumble with the guy who lost his glasses. So she'd missed the final ferry run, and that probably influenced her decision. The tumble was a good decision. For us. We might never have found the victim if she hadn't been the tumbling type. You can go after the woman too, as soon as I question her and let you know where she calls home.”

The plane took off. Speaking of reports, I would file one on this night, an official request to my director with the term
serial killer
prominently displayed. Fitzy's superiors had given up on getting him to do anything he chose not to do; my director knew what to expect from me.

7

At a quarter to seven in the morning, Fitzy and I went down to the dock to board the first ferry. Joe begged off, said he had a flurry of messages from his office he had to see to; a big drug shipment had been confiscated from a container ship in the Gulf of Mexico off the Texas coast. Told me he'd meet us later at Richard's Patio. Okay.

Fitzy was in uniform. That, and my flashing my FBI badge under the harbormaster's nose brought the ferry captain hustling out onto the dock to see what the problem might be.