Sleight of Hand (9 page)

He didn't need the murder books for the details–for those he had Jimmy.  The gruff former Marine had a way with witnesses and could remember interviews he'd performed years ago.

"Right here, this is it," Jimmy told him, squatting down in the wood shavings that now covered a patch of hard-packed dirt.  "Sophia Frantz."  

Drake looked up, more interested in what the killer had seen than the victim's perspective.  He turned around in a full circle, slowly, absorbing each view.

"When?" he asked.

Jimmy reached a hand out, gently patting the ground where the dead girl had laid nine years ago.  "May," he told his partner.   He pivoted ninety degrees and paced about four feet towards the road.  Then he squatted once more.  "Tanya was here.  Five years later and the bastard still found almost the exact same spot."  

He looked up at the two stone obelisks that guarded the entrance to the park.  On top of each was a statue depicting an angel holding a lantern aloft, two small children clutching her skirt, seeking protection.  

Drake looked away when Jimmy crossed himself and continued his circling.  He took the small camera out and snapped photos of the panorama that surrounded them, then paused, staring down the hill into the thick woods.  

"There's rocks, pretty slippy.  It gets steep between here and the zoo–tricky at night," Jimmy answered his unasked question.  "Could have come through the tunnel down there," he nodded to the stone tunnel that led under the road and protected a paved path that continued down to the zoo.  "But only if he came on foot."

"May.  Nights getting warmer."  Drake looked over at the silhouette of the apartment building a few blocks in the distance.  Its blue-tinted glass and steel facade reflected the morning sun, transforming the rays of light into spun copper that danced with the movement of the clouds.  "I'll bet this is a popular spot at night."

"You'd think.  No one ever came forward who saw anything."  

"Anything to connect either victim to here?"

"Neither had ever been here according to the families." Jimmy closed his eyes, remembering.  "It was a heat wave–windows open that week.  Actor slit the screen and bundled Sophie out of her Northside apartment without waking a soul.  Two days later, she was found here.  Autopsy showed she'd been killed the same night she was taken, though.  Same with Tanya–only she lived in Homewood."

A loud whistle split the air and the children came to an abrupt halt.  Drake watched as they left their amusement to line up before the teachers.

Drake froze.  His stomach clenched as he realized what the killer needed, thirsted for.  More than the death of his victims.  

"He wanted kids to find them.  That's why he changed from the Phipps.  He thought it would be kids who found Cleary, not the jogger."

Jimmy's gaze was also fixed on the wide yellow bus.  

"Yeah," his voice was low.  "I think maybe you're right."

Drake left Jimmy and prowled the area, ignored by the children climbing back onto their bus.  He circled back and forth, taking photos from every angle.  Sonofabitch.  It took an effort to maintain his professional demeanor as his anger simmered.  It wasn't enough to watch the kill, not enough to turn the families' grief into a public spectacle by delaying the dumping of the bodies, this actor wanted other children to live with the horror of finding the bodies.

Now he moved with intent.  He would bet any money that their man watched, concealed, as the bodies were discovered.  There was a large grove of bushes at the edge of the trees, before the terrain dropped off.  It would make for excellent cover.  He broke into a jog even though he knew there could be no evidence left.  Sidling between branches of sumac, he settled himself down and turned his head.

A front row seat to where the bodies had been discovered.  Drake closed his eyes and held his breath for moment, trying to absorb any essences the killer had left behind. 
Where are you now, you sick bastard?
 

Finally he stood and returned to where Jimmy waited by the car, talking on his cell phone.

"You're right.  They've been doing field trips here for the past fourteen years," he told Drake when he hung up.  "And the schedule is posted on the public information bulletin board at the zoo's entrance."

"I think that's where he camped out to watch."  Drake gestured to the bushes.  "Don't suppose they collected evidence from there in either case?"

Jimmy frowned and shook his head.  He ruffled through the pages of Frantz's, then Kent's murder book to be certain.  "They looked but didn't find anything."

"I'm not surprised.  This guy's too cool to leave any part of himself behind."  He got into the car.  "Where's the last one?"

"Eades, the oddball that doesn't fit the pattern.  Found in an alleyway off of Forbes."

"Let's go."

Jimmy pulled out of the parking lot, and they headed through Shadyside into Squirrel Hill.  He parked illegally in front of a loading dock.  They walked to the back door of a photographer's studio.

"The place used to be Eades'," Jimmy told him.  "She'd just locked up for the day, was taking out the trash when he got her.  Left her here beside the dumpster.  Her son found her."

Drake glanced up at that.  "Her son?"

"Yeah, he goes to school over at Davis, it's only a few blocks away.  After school he'd come here, do his homework, go home with mom."

"Why was he late getting here that afternoon?"

"Had a speech therapist he worked with after school on Tuesdays and Thursdays."  

Drake prowled the alley, squinting up, searching the walls for a vantage point.  He pushed the dumpster five feet over, vaulted onto the lid.

"There's an air shaft back here," he explained as he climbed down, brushing grime from his jeans.  "Perfect view."

"We need to talk to the son," Jimmy said.

"Right.  Damned certain his routine wasn't posted on any bulletin board."  They returned to the car and headed back to the station house.  "Did you question the therapist?"

"Just to verify the kid's story.  She didn't know anything."

"Be nice to track her down, too."

"Yeah, just remember it's been seven years.  People move around a lot," Jimmy reminded him.  

His words of caution couldn't dampen the thrill of anticipation that raced through Drake.    Even without his gun, he was still a cop–
the
cop to nail this bastard.

CHAPTER 7

Every ER had its Morris.  A frequent flyer, usually homeless, psychotic, addicted–or any combination of the three–who adopted the Emergency Department as his own.  

Despite the fact that Morris couldn't manage life in the "real world", he was smart enough to work the hospital system to his advantage.  He knew to check the schedule to see which attending was on duty, knew which symptoms they would have to take seriously but not seriously enough to warrant any painful procedures, knew what the cafeteria would have on its menu.   

No one was sure where Morris spent his time outside of the ER.  Cassie had once passed him on the steps of the Carnegie Library.  He cursed and spat at her as if she'd invaded his privacy, overstepped her bounds.  She guessed Morris was about thirty, he never gave the same name or birthday when asked.  He was tall and built solidly.  Some of the staff said he'd been in the military, a boxer said others, but Cassie thought he was then just what he was now: a bully, accustomed to getting his own way and not afraid to use his fists to achieve it.

The first time Cassie met him he tried to sweet talk the new "lady doctor."   She'd called security to remove him.  He came in a few more times while she was on duty, but never got what he wanted: drugs and a free bed for the night.

This morning it seemed Morris had gotten both elsewhere.  Two uniformed officers brought him in, obviously intoxicated.  Blood from a deep gash in his scalp smeared his face and he had other lacerations on his hands and forearms, probably defensive wounds.  One of the officers handcuffed him to the gurney, shook his heads and left the room, wiping saliva from his uniform.

"Watch him, he'll try to bite," the second officer warned Juanita, the nurse assigned to Morris. The officer stopped short when he saw Cassie, stretching himself to his full six foot four height.  

Tony Spanos.  First Morris and now Spanos.  What more could go wrong today?  

"Of course, that wouldn't scare Dr. Hart," Spanos continued, his voice brimming with sarcasm.  "She'd probably just bite him right back."  He leaned into the room.  "Hey, Morris, you had your rabies shots?"

Cassie met Spanos' smirk with a glare but said nothing.  

"Isn't that right, Dr. Hart?  You're the kind of gal who likes it rough, aren't you?  C'mon, Johnson, it's time for our break."  Cassie had the feeling that she'd be the main topic of conversation between the two.  "Call us when you're ready for us to take him in."

"Yeah, right," Juanita answered without enthusiasm.  "I'm not going in there by myself," she told Cassie.

Cassie sighed.  This wasn't her idea of a good time either.  "Grab some Haldol and etomidate and meet me in there."  The two drugs ought to be sufficient to chemically restrain Morris in order to examine him and repair his lacerations.

She entered the room where Morris lay, his right arm secured by the handcuffs.  Cassie cursed.  Spanos hadn't taken the time to notice that Morris was left-handed.  Okay, they were just going to have to do this the hard way.

Morris stopped thrashing long enough to give her a long, venom-filled stare.  She could tell by his pinpoint pupils and the way he smelled that he'd been binging on crack.  It wasn't a hard guess; it was Morris' favorite pastime when he went off his meds.

"So they persecute me further by sending in the Queen Bitch," Morris said, his voice level, almost rational.

"Morris, I need to examine you, fix those cuts," she kept her own tone even.

"Yeah, whatever.  I just need me some rest."  He closed his eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

Cassie remained in the doorway.  Maybe he was starting to come down or maybe he was faking.  Either way she wasn't getting closer without some help, handcuffs or not.

"Hey, Cassie," one of the residents called from the nurses' station.  "Help me with this X-ray, will you?"

She left Morris and joined the resident at the X-ray view box. 

"I don't see anything," the resident told her.  "Okay if I discharge them home?"

"Look again.  See the posterior fat pad there?"  She pointed to the suspicious area of tissue surrounding the elbow joint.

"Damn, you're right.  There's a break there.  I'll call ortho."

Cassie saw Juanita go into Morris' room and went to join her.  She sped up when she heard a muffled cry and the clash of metal on metal.  She reached the doorway and froze.  

Morris held Juanita in a chokehold with his left arm.  She was struggling, but he leveraged her neck against the bedrail.  Juanita's eyes were bulging with terror but Morris smiled, baring his teeth as he squeezed harder.

Cassie checked her instinct to rush inside.  She'd only make things worse, fuel Morris' rage.

"Morris, why don't you let her go?" she said in the calmest voice she could manage. 

Juanita's face turned red as she struggled to breathe.

"Why don't you play nice Doctor Bitch and ask me what I want?"

"Let her loose, and I'll get you whatever you want."

"Don't try to jive me.  I don't mind killing this one and then I'll start in on you if you cross me."

Juanita was now turning an alarming shade of purple.  

"Let her breathe, otherwise you'll be holding a corpse!"  She moved forward to help her nurse.

"Freeze, bitch!" Morris shouted, but he did loosen his grip enough so that Juanita was able to gasp for breath.  "This one can live if you do what I say."

Cassie held her distance.  "What do you want?"

"Go get the keys to these bracelets."  He rattled the handcuffs.  "And I want some of that coke you people keep around here. I hear that stuff is 100% proof."

"We don't keep cocaine down here in the ER."  She thought fast.  "We do have morphine, though.  You want some of that?"  She thought she remembered heroin on the list of drugs that Morris abused.

Morris shook his head, but his eyes were alight with the possibilities.  "No, none of that morphine shit–that other stuff, the funforall or whatever it's called.  I heard that's the biggest rush ever."

"Fentanyl.  Yeah, I can get you some of that, I guess."  She tried to make it sound like it would be more difficult than it was.

"Okay, go get it–some for here and some to go.  I'll give you five minutes, or this one gets to see how long she can hold her breath."  Cassie turned to leave the room.  "And don't forget the key to these fuckin' cuffs!"

She ran through the crowd gathering outside in the hall.  

"Who's got narc keys?" she shouted.  

Rachel Lloyd was talking to Virginia Ulrich at the nurses' station, but left to join Cassie at the computerized medication dispenser.  Cassie wondered why Charlie's mother was down here in the ER, but didn't have time to ask.  "Someone go tell Spanos his coffee break is over."

Rachel punched in her code, then used her key to unlock the drawer with the fentanyl.

"Give me two vials," Cassie said.  She twisted the plastic lock off the crash cart and grabbed a bottle of succinylcholine and a pair of syringes.  

"Here," she handed a syringe to Rachel.  "Empty them and waste the fentanyl.  We'll replace it with succ–"

"Are you sure?  What if he suspects?"

"Insert the needle right at the edge of the seal.  He won't notice a thing." She demonstrated with the vial she held.  

"But what if he doesn't use it here?" Rachel continued to argue.  The charge nurse had a soft spot for Morris–she'd even gotten him into detox once.  "He'll die if he injects that without medical help nearby."

"A chance we'll have to take."  She finished replacing the contents of the fentanyl vial and took the one Rachel held.

"He's your patient.  You can't just let him die.  Our job is to help people, not to gamble with their lives."