The Dead Room (13 page)

25

Darby opened the door to Exam Room 2. The Wonder Twins had placed a small pair of binoculars inside a fuming chamber.

Mark Alves, his Portuguese skin tanned the colour of mahogany, pointed to the binoculars and said, ‘I don’t think we’re going to get any prints off them. Hopefully we’ll have better luck with this stuff.’

He pointed to the items on the table: a bloody straight-edged razor and labelled strips of duct tape.

Randy Scott, a pencil tucked behind his ear, stood next to Darby, flipping through pages on his clipboard. He smelled of sunscreen. He never tanned and avoided the sun. His father and brother had died of melanoma, the same skin cancer that had killed Darby’s mother.

While she waited, Darby looked at the well-worn binoculars.
NIKON
was stamped on the plastic chassis. The manufacturer had installed a thick black rubber armour to prevent damage in case they were dropped. The rubber had cracked because of age and exposure, and she saw scratches on the lenses and a mended crack along the side the owner had repaired with glue. The heads of two Phillips-head screws had been stripped.

‘Okay, here it is,’ Randy said. ‘The bloody footprints on the driveway, walkway and front steps belong to the EMTs. We matched them to the boots they were wearing last night. The footprints you found in the garage match the ones on the deck and kitchen floor. And the size and shape matches the muddy footprint on the living room carpet.

‘We lifted a really good footprint from the garage and kitchen floors. The sole and tread marks match a type of sneaker called the Gel Nimbus, made by Asics. They’re a size nine. They’re also a woman’s sneaker.’

‘A
woman’s
sneaker,’ Darby repeated, more to herself than to Randy.

‘That’s according to the national footwear database we use, and I triple-checked everything just to make sure. That being said, I’m not suggesting a woman was inside the house. It could be that a man accidently bought them. It
does
happen on occasion. Tell her, Mark.’

Mark didn’t answer, just kept writing on his clipboard.

‘Tell me what?’ Darby asked.

Mark sighed. ‘There was this one time I
accidentally
bought a pair of women’s sneakers. I went to a basement sale and some of the sneakers were mixed up. They fit, they were comfortable, so I bought them.’

‘You said you liked the cute yellow stripes,’ Randy said. ‘That’s why you bought them.’

Darby laughed. Mark shot Randy the finger and returned to his notes.

‘I checked our footwear… database,’ Randy said, grinning. The lab’s footwear database consisted of a collection of three-ring binders. ‘I didn’t find a match to any evidence from local cases.’

‘What did you find in the woods?’

‘This way,’ he said, opening the door.

She followed him to a small conference room. Bagged evidence sat on the table. He had tacked pictures of the evidence to a wall. Across from it, on a whiteboard, he had drawn a topographical sketch of the woods, dividing sections into twenty-eight quadrants and marking the areas where he’d found evidence.

‘These areas right here – Quadrants 1 through 7 – are directly behind the back fence,’ Randy said. ‘The gentleman you encountered with the night-vision goggles stood behind the tree in Quadrant 17 – the same place you found the blister pack. That area gave him a great tactical advantage. He could see the woods, and he had quick access to the second incline that led up to the road.

‘The first stun grenade landed here, in Quadrant 10, where you found the phone. We recovered the spent shell casings from that area and from the top of the second incline, Quadrants 24 and 25. They’re all Smith and Wesson forties. We dug the slugs from the tree trunk and sent them up to ballistics.

‘He threw three smoke grenades, and, as you can see, they line the second row here near the top of the first incline, Quadrants 9 through 13.’

‘He created a smoke screen.’

‘That’s exactly what he did. He kept everyone back in order to provide enough time for him to grab the phone and for his partners to haul away the body. All the items of evidence we recovered were in tight, concentrated areas. Except for this.’ He pointed to the top-left-hand corner, Quadrant 22. ‘This is where I found the binoculars. It’s far away from the other footprints we found in the woods. The footprints I found in Quadrant 22 match the ones left on the deck steps and on the garage floor.’

‘Do the sneaker prints match any of the others you found inside the woods?’

‘No, they don’t.’

Darby stared at the grid map, thinking about the person who had shot their way
inside
the house and cut Sean Sheppard lose. If this shooter was part of the group she’d seen in the woods, why were they standing so far away from the others?

‘That’s all I have,’ Randy said. ‘Do you want to examine the evidence yourself, or would you like me to work on it?’

‘I want to see one of the Smith and Wesson forties.’

He handed her a bag. He had bagged each spent round individually and marked it with a number to correspond to its location on the grid map.
Christ, he’s thorough.

Using a pen, she examined the spark plug. It seemed to be the right size. No irregular borders or markings.

‘I want to run each one of these through the mass spectrometer.’ She told him about the microstamp.

Darby checked her watch. Quarter to four.

‘Mark and I won’t leave until we’re finished,’ Randy said. ‘I know this is a top priority.’

‘I was just checking the time. I need to make some phone calls.’

‘Well, we’ll be here if you need us.’

‘Nice work, Randy.’

‘Nothing to it.’

26

Darby sat in her office chair, typing on her keyboard. She had, courtesy of Police Commissioner Chadzynski, a computer with direct access to the Boston Police Department’s Crime Justice Information System, the same network used by homicide detectives and patrolmen.

She found the case file numbers for the murders of Donnie and Sue Sheppard. No details were listed. She looked at the date. April 13, 1983. Homicides prior to 1985 hadn’t been transferred to the database. The murder books and physical evidence were stored in one of the trailers out in Hyde Park. She picked up the phone. The desk sergeant who took the call promised to deliver the murder books and the associated evidence to the lab no later than noon tomorrow.

A Google searched revealed that RES did, in fact, stand for Reynolds Engineering Systems. The company was based in Wilmington, Virginia. According to its website, RES was one of the leading developers of microstamping technology.

She had to wait on the line for more than half an hour while her call was transferred to various department heads. Each time she had to reintroduce herself and explain the reason for her call. Each time the person she talked to had to bump the call up to his or her superior. Finally, a vice-president came on the line, and after much discussion he put her in touch with the head of the division in charge of microstamping, a pleasant-sounding woman named Madeira James.

Darby went through the whole rigmarole of who she was and the reason for her call. James put her on hold. Ten minutes later she came back on the line.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss McCormick, but I needed to gather some materials and also check in with some people. Everyone here is, well, more than a little alarmed at the possibility that one of our microstamped prototypes is connected to a homicide investigation.’

‘I understand.’

‘Those codes you found stamped on the bullet, could you please give them to me again?’

She did.

‘Okay,’ James said. ‘That bottom row of numbers, B4M6?? Those codes correspond to a batch of test ammo we ran on… Here it is, January 16th of last year. According to my notes, the ammo was used for an in-house demonstration.’

‘Do you mean a demonstration for company executives?’

‘It’s possible. The bigwigs like to check in once in a while to see how their money’s being spent. The demo could have been given to a law enforcement agency. We’re trying to get everyone on board with the new technology, to show them how it will change ballistics identification. Of course, the gun lobbyists are fighting it tooth and nail.’

‘I need to know the names of the people who were at this demonstration.’

‘I don’t have that information here. It’s on the other side of the building, under lock and key.’

‘You can’t access it?’

‘Not right now – the vault, as we call it, is about to close for the day. I have to fill out a form to access the records, and I need to get it signed by several people, including the president. I know it sounds like a bureaucracy – and you would be right – but the main reason is we have to be wary of corporate spying. There are four competing companies who are developing some sort of microstamping technology. Only one company will be chosen. We’re talking, potentially, hundreds of millions of dollars, so you can see why we need the extra security.’

‘The first row, GLK18. Is that the code for a Glock eighteen?’

‘That’s what I have here in my notes.’

‘What do you know about handguns, Miss James?’

‘Not much, I’m afraid. I’m just involved in the technology part.’

‘The Glock eighteen isn’t available here in the States.’

‘I see where you’re heading. We routinely test different types of ammunition on various weapons – handguns, shotguns, sniper rifles, you name it. Some are illegal, such as semi-automatic weapons, and because we can’t purchase them, they’re donated to us through various law enforcement personnel. It’s all legal.’

‘What about the FBI? Have they donated weapons?’

‘They have. They’re staunch supporters of microstamping. They want to make sure the stamping works on ammo used in various weapons. I seem to recall their bringing a handgun called… a Bar…’

‘Barak,’ Darby said. The double-action pistol, she knew, had been originally developed to be used by the Israeli Defence Force and was now used by Israeli police. ‘When can you get me that list of names?’

‘I’ll fill out the paperwork tonight and get to work on it first thing tomorrow morning. I can give you copies of the sign-in sheets, if you want. What’s the best way to reach you?’

Darby gave the woman her phone numbers and email address. She thanked her and hung up, about to head to ballistics to see if a Glock eighteen had been used in any local or national homicides, when her phone rang.

‘Darby McCormick.’

‘Miss McCormick, my name is Charlie Skinner.’ The man’s voice sounded as if his throat were wrapped in barbed wire. ‘I’m the superintendent for MCI-Cedar Junction. I need to talk to you about the man who murdered your father.’

27

Darby remained standing, her heart thudding inside her chest as she watched the raindrops running down her office window.

Her beeper vibrated against her hip.

‘Miss McCormick? Are you there?’

‘I’m here.’ She checked her beeper. Operations had paged her.

‘Is this a good time, or should I call back tomorrow?’

‘No, Mr Skinner, I’d like to talk now.’ She had a strange cramping sensation in her throat. ‘Can I put you on hold for a moment?’

‘Of course. Take your time.’

She put Skinner on hold and dialled Coop’s office.

‘Do me a favour,’ she said after he picked up. ‘Ops just paged me and I’m on the phone. Call ops, get the details and talk to the detective. I’ll meet you in your office when I’m finished.’

She picked up Skinner’s line.

‘Thanks for holding, Mr Skinner.’

‘Please call me Charlie. I’m probably old enough to be your grandfather. Miss McCormick, the reason for my call is that John Ezekiel has requested to speak to you.’

‘About what?’

‘He said he has some information regarding a woman named Amy Hallcox.’

Darby sat on the edge of her desk. ‘What sort of information?’

‘He wouldn’t tell me. He’s under no obligation to do so. Isn’t Amy Hallcox the woman who was murdered in Belham?’

‘Yes. How does he know her? Did he say?’

‘No, he didn’t. But I can tell you she went to visit him yesterday afternoon.’

The day she was murdered.

‘She came in at three thirty and spoke to him for an hour,’ Skinner said. ‘That’s the maximum time we allow. Ezekiel is in Ten Block – that’s our maximum-security wing – and since he’s been on good behaviour, we allowed the visit.’

‘When was he moved from general pop?’

‘Let’s see…’ She heard the
tap-tap-tap
of keys on the other end of the line. ‘After Ezekiel was arrested, he got into a lot of fights with inmates. Nothing serious but he spent a lot of time in solitary. That changed five years ago when he murdered another inmate in the shower – he broke the man’s neck. We had to move him to Ten Block. Ezekiel’s been quite a problem, especially with the psychiatric nurses. He’s schizophrenic and they have to inject him with medication. Right after we moved him, he glassed one of the male nurses.’

‘Glassed?’

‘Sorry, that’s one of our local prison terms. A male nurse coined the phrase. Ezekiel unscrewed one of the light bulbs in his cell, crushed the glass and mixed it with his faeces. When the nurses came to give him his daily injection, he threw the mixture at them. They wiped their faces and ended up getting cut pretty badly from the glass. One of them had to have surgery on his eyes and has been partially blinded. Thanks to Mr Ezekiel, we had to install grates around all the lights in Ten Block Have you spoken to him before?’

‘No. Did he specifically ask for me?’ Her name hadn’t been mentioned in the papers or the news regarding the Belham murder.

‘He asked to speak to you – and only you,’ Skinner said. ‘He also told me that if you refused to come, he won’t speak to another detective. Have you ever interviewed a prisoner before?’

‘No, I haven’t.’

‘Then let me explain how this works. I can arrange a room where you can speak to Mr Ezekiel in privacy. Don’t be surprised if he suddenly decides not to speak to you. He’s under no legal obligation to share the knowledge of his meeting with Miss Hallcox, if that’s what this is all about. He may, in fact, request a lawyer.’

‘Has he asked for one?’

‘Not yet, but that doesn’t mean he can’t – or won’t – change his mind. Murderers are, at their core, nothing but cowards. It’s been my experience that when they’re in the presence of the victim’s family, they simply shut down. I’m not saying he will, but I am saying you should be prepared for the possibility. And you have the added burden of his schizophrenia. He’s medicated, but I’m told that disease is tricky to treat. From what I’ve read here, he still suffers from delusions – thinks people are watching and listening.’

‘Has anyone else visited him?’

‘Not according to what I’ve got up on my computer screen, but these records only go back fifteen years. That’s about the time we switched over to using computers. Now we use them for everything. I’m an old-fashioned man, and I must admit I miss paper.’

‘I’m assuming you kept all the old paper logs.’

‘You assume correctly.’

‘Can you pull them? I’d like to know who else has visited Ezekiel.’

‘I can do that, but that may take a few days. You’ll have to fill out paperwork. I can email it to you, or you can fill it out when you come in.’

‘I’ll do it when I come in. When can I see him?’

‘We need to make some preparations, so how about tomorrow morning at ten?’

‘Ten’s fine.’

‘This is going to sound odd, but I have to say it. Please adhere to the female dress code policy. You’ll find the details on our website. Read it and have yourself a good laugh.’

Darby hung up, called ballistics and asked the person who answered to run a Glock eighteen through their database.

She walked down the hall feeling unsteady on her feet and strangely light-headed, as though she had just woken up from anaesthesia. Her mind recalled the single image she had of John Ezekiel – a black-and-white newspaper photograph of him staring down at his cuffed hands as the judge read the verdict of his life sentence. She remembered Ezekiel’s high forehead and blond hair; the hard, knotted muscles in his forearms. Eyes that seemed too small for his large face. Darby remembered that the photograph had been bigger than the small article tucked away in the back pages of the
Boston Herald American
.

When she opened the door to the fingerprints unit, she saw Coop standing behind his desk.

‘Homicide in Charlestown,’ he said, tearing a sheet of paper from a pad. ‘Lead detective is Stan Jennings. I couldn’t get him on the phone, but ops told me what we need to know. The victim’s lying in a dirt basement full of human remains.’