Eight In The Box Part 7

"Uncle Wayne?" Mooney forced a smile for the sake of the kids. "Who told you to call me Uncle Wayne?"

"Mommy," Iris said.

"I told you she's good, Sarge," Alves laughed. "She's even got the kids in on the conspiracy. Why don't we get you a nice big plate of food so we'll be ready to make our escape?"

CHAPTER 22.

"Not bad, Sarge, we were only gone two hours." Alves unwrapped the piece of cake Marcy had packed for him. He usually ate healthy, but his one weakness was gold cake with white frosting. The only thing missing was a tall gla.s.s of cold milk. "You sure you don't want any of this, Sarge? It's a ma.s.sive piece." piece of cake Marcy had packed for him. He usually ate healthy, but his one weakness was gold cake with white frosting. The only thing missing was a tall gla.s.s of cold milk. "You sure you don't want any of this, Sarge? It's a ma.s.sive piece."

"Too full. Maybe I'll have a candy bar. I couldn't stop eating the yucca and fried plantains. That stuff must be brain food," Mooney said.

"Why's that?"

"I think I figured out what our boy's up to. He wants the bodies. I don't know why, but he wants them. Maybe he's some sick necrophiliac having s.e.x with them. We need to check the DOC releases for all known s.e.x offenders over the past year. This guy may have just gotten out of prison."

"I know one of the screws out in Walpole. I'll give him a call tomorrow. He'll take care of me. I'll check with the s.e.x Offender Registry too."

"He wants us to know the victims are dead. That's why the nine-one-one calls and the blood in the tubs. All these jacka.s.ses in the media calling him the Blood Bath Killer are falling for his little gimmick. But this blood-bath s.h.i.t is just a means to an end."

"Gimmick?" Alves shoveled a piece of cake into his mouth.

"If he kills someone and keeps their body, there's no evidence of a crime. They just end up as a missing person. The case doesn't draw the same kind of attention as a murder. Angel, I'm convinced this guy has killed before. We just didn't know it. It p.i.s.sed him off that we didn't know. That's when he came up with this whole blood-bath thing." Mooney shoved a stack of reports aside and pointed to a photo of a smiling Susan McCarthy on the front page of the Globe. Globe. "He keeps the body as a trophy and throws us a curveball and gets the attention he wants. He even gets himself a catchy nickname." "He keeps the body as a trophy and throws us a curveball and gets the attention he wants. He even gets himself a catchy nickname."

"That's not bad, Sarge," Alves said.

"It's brilliant. But what it means is that there's at least one victim out there we don't know about." Mooney took a Sky Bar out of his desk. Alves thought they tasted like they were left over from the fifties, but Mooney lived on them. The vending machines at headquarters were one of the only known sources of the relics. Mooney always broke them into four pieces, eating his least favorite-the peanut b.u.t.ter one-first. "Did you ever get a chance to look up the old missing-persons reports?"

Alves licked the frosting off his plastic fork. "I've got the guys from the Cold Case Squad putting together the files for me."

"We need to go back at least a year to see if anyone fits the general profile of McCarthy and Hayes. I don't think this guy started with prost.i.tutes like a lot of serial killers. He picks his victims for a reason."

"The missing outfits might explain that. Why do you think he takes their clothes?"

"He probably can't have a normal relationship with a woman. I bet he's a professional guy who deals with professional women. He gets rejected on a regular basis by those women. This is his chance to spend some time with them without being ridiculed. Maybe he dresses them up so he can undress them. He's trying to create what he thinks is a normal relationship."

"What's next, Sarge?" Alves asked. Either he was getting a sugar rush from the cake or Mooney's enthusiasm was contagious. Whatever it was, Alves was ready to repay Mooney for letting him make an appearance at the party.

"Let's map out everything we have so far." Mooney licked his fingers, savoring the vanilla square of his candy bar. "Tomorrow we'll start looking through those old files to try and identify another vic. I'm hoping we can find his first kill. Maybe we'll catch a break and figure out how he's picking his targets."

CHAPTER 23.

Dressed in his black running pants and hooded sweatshirt, Richter stood perfectly still. He had disciplined himself to remain still for hours, invisible to the casual observer and to anyone who might hurry by on the distant sidewalk. While most people were afraid to go into a cemetery at night, Richter was energized by it. As a child he'd been afraid to sleep without a light on, until his grandfather helped him to appreciate the darkness for all its beauty. stood perfectly still. He had disciplined himself to remain still for hours, invisible to the casual observer and to anyone who might hurry by on the distant sidewalk. While most people were afraid to go into a cemetery at night, Richter was energized by it. As a child he'd been afraid to sleep without a light on, until his grandfather helped him to appreciate the darkness for all its beauty.

The old man turned off the light in the bedroom. The child was sleeping away from home for the first time, spending some time at his grandparents' farm. He was used to sleeping with a small night-light in his room at home. Now, in this strange bedroom, he was terrified. Was there something under the bed? Was there something in the closet? Could something climb in the open first-floor window? "Grampa, I'm scared," the child said. "Grampa, I'm scared," the child said. "Scared of what, boy?" the old man replied. "Scared of what, boy?" the old man replied. "I'm scared of the dark." "I'm scared of the dark." "There's no need to be scared of the dark. I thought you were a big boy." "There's no need to be scared of the dark. I thought you were a big boy." "I am a big boy." "I am a big boy." "Big boys aren't afraid of the dark. Next you'll be telling me you wet the bed. Now go to sleep before I give you something to really be scared of." "Big boys aren't afraid of the dark. Next you'll be telling me you wet the bed. Now go to sleep before I give you something to really be scared of." "Grampa, can you just leave one light on for me so I can see?" "Grampa, can you just leave one light on for me so I can see?" "Look, there's nothing to be scared of." The old man waved the child over. "Come with me. I'll prove to you that there's nothing to be scared of in the dark." "Look, there's nothing to be scared of." The old man waved the child over. "Come with me. I'll prove to you that there's nothing to be scared of in the dark." The child got out of bed and followed him down the long hallway to the kitchen. The old man opened the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt and started down the stairs. The child stood at the top of the stairs, not wanting to go any farther. The child got out of bed and followed him down the long hallway to the kitchen. The old man opened the door to the bas.e.m.e.nt and started down the stairs. The child stood at the top of the stairs, not wanting to go any farther. "C'mon, follow me," he said. "I'm not going to bite you." "C'mon, follow me," he said. "I'm not going to bite you." He crept down the stairs after the old man, who led him into a smaller room. This was where his grandmother stored her potatoes and turnips so they would keep longer in the cool, dark air. He crept down the stairs after the old man, who led him into a smaller room. This was where his grandmother stored her potatoes and turnips so they would keep longer in the cool, dark air. "Why are we down here, Grampa?" the child asked. "What did you want to show me?" He was more frightened in the dark bas.e.m.e.nt than he'd been in the bedroom. The only thing that made him feel safe was his grandfather beside him. "Why are we down here, Grampa?" the child asked. "What did you want to show me?" He was more frightened in the dark bas.e.m.e.nt than he'd been in the bedroom. The only thing that made him feel safe was his grandfather beside him. "This room is what I wanted to show you," the old man said. "Where you're going to sleep tonight." "This room is what I wanted to show you," the old man said. "Where you're going to sleep tonight." "Stop kidding with me, Grampa." "Stop kidding with me, Grampa." "You're going to sleep where I tell you. And tonight you're going to sleep on that potato sack in the corner. You can use this empty sack as a blanket," he said, handing the child an old burlap sack. "You're going to sleep where I tell you. And tonight you're going to sleep on that potato sack in the corner. You can use this empty sack as a blanket," he said, handing the child an old burlap sack. "But, Grampa-" "But, Grampa-" "No buts, boy. You're going to sleep down here in the dark tonight. When you see that there ain't nothing going to hurt you down here, you'll understand that there's nothing to be scared of in a dark bedroom." "No buts, boy. You're going to sleep down here in the dark tonight. When you see that there ain't nothing going to hurt you down here, you'll understand that there's nothing to be scared of in a dark bedroom." "I believe you! Now I know there's nothing to be scared of. I'll be a good boy and go to sleep in the bedroom upstairs." "I believe you! Now I know there's nothing to be scared of. I'll be a good boy and go to sleep in the bedroom upstairs." "It's too late for that now. You go to sleep. I'll come down in the morning to get you for breakfast. You'll be fine. You'll see that there's no bogeyman in the dark." "It's too late for that now. You go to sleep. I'll come down in the morning to get you for breakfast. You'll be fine. You'll see that there's no bogeyman in the dark." The old man closed the battered wooden door and latched it from the outside. The room was completely dark except for the thin light that fought its way through a crack in the door. The child started to cry. He ran to the door and pounded on it. The old man closed the battered wooden door and latched it from the outside. The room was completely dark except for the thin light that fought its way through a crack in the door. The child started to cry. He ran to the door and pounded on it. "Grampa, let me out!" he shouted. "I'm not afraid of the dark anymore. Please let me out." "Grampa, let me out!" he shouted. "I'm not afraid of the dark anymore. Please let me out." The old man didn't respond. The child heard him make his way to the top of the stairs and then the light coming through the crack in the door went out. He fell to the dirt floor. He cried himself to sleep, never making it back to the potato sack that was supposed to be his bed. The old man didn't respond. The child heard him make his way to the top of the stairs and then the light coming through the crack in the door went out. He fell to the dirt floor. He cried himself to sleep, never making it back to the potato sack that was supposed to be his bed.

Richter opened his eyes. Now he understood what his grandfather had done for him. Richter could become one with the dark; if he stayed there long enough, he would absorb all of it and become the darkness and the shadows. He could move anywhere unnoticed. This was important because he wasn't in his own neighborhood. If spotted, he would stand out as someone who didn't belong.

He had parked his car just off Centre Street in Jamaica Plain, near a couple of busy restaurants and bars where his car would blend in with those of the patrons. From there he had walked down side streets, eventually making his way to Forest Hills Street and the entrance to Franklin Park. After he ran through the park-an area full of high school track teams and joggers by day and, by night, muggers-he jumped a fence and crossed Morton Street and slipped into the Forest Hills Cemetery. At the farthest point south in the cemetery, the land, in almost an hourgla.s.s shape, met up with Mt. Hope Cemetery and Calvary Cemetery.

He had been in his position for some time when he heard them, a bunch of teenagers moving down the street, yelling at pa.s.sing cars and smashing bottles. Someone was sure to call the police. If the caller was smart enough, he'd say he heard shots fired and the cops would respond right away. If not, the response might come in an hour. That complicated things. And she was running late. She should have been home by now.

There was a little knot of tension starting up in his neck. He had to relax. He did his best work when he was relaxed. Then at the corner he spotted it, a T bus crawling along, swerving to make stops. He heard the familiar whoosh, the crank of the door and she was there, on the sidewalk right in front of him. She walked briskly up the stairs and was swallowed in the darkness.

Richter saw the lights come on. From his vantage point he studied the nurse as she moved about her snug bungalow. It was shabby, but without a man to paint and plaster, she'd probably planned to save up before she tackled the big projects. He watched as she went through her mail and then as she got ready for bed. She didn't go to sleep right away. She read a book on the couch before going to her room.

He admired her for her commitment and dedication to her work. She didn't have children or a boyfriend. Obviously, she had put aside any thoughts of a serious relationship or of raising a family so she could focus on her career. She was a nurse manager at the New England Medical Center. Maybe she had bought the house in this neighborhood thinking she'd be one of those people that would bring about change. Maybe she planned to finally clear some time in her busy day for those community groups that left flyers in her mailbox.

Richter knew that none of that was going to happen, because he was about to enter her life and change everything. Not tonight, but soon.

CHAPTER 24.

Nick Costa waited in the gallery while Judge Sterling Davis prepared to send Andi Norton's jury out for a second day of deliberations. She and Connie stood at the prosecutor's table as the jury entered the room. to send Andi Norton's jury out for a second day of deliberations. She and Connie stood at the prosecutor's table as the jury entered the room.

Nick tried to concentrate on his next case but could only think about Monica Hughes with her blond hair and toned legs. The way she was looking at him the other day, he knew she liked him too. Things started out rough with her asking about his trials the first day she'd met him. But by the end of that day he knew he'd impressed her with some of the bail arguments he'd made. And he'd made her laugh too. He needed to ask her out soon, though. He'd waited too long with Andi Norton and Connie had moved right in. But actually, that had worked out. Imagine if he'd wasted his time trying to hook up with Andi before finding out she had a kid. An instant family didn't sound like a good time to him.

But now Connie was stuck with Andi, and Nick was no longer a rookie DA. He'd been around long enough to have some war stories to impress Monica. The timing of her arrival at South Bay couldn't have been better. Maybe he'd see if she wanted to go for a walk along the Charles on Sat.u.r.day and grab some lunch on Beacon Hill.

"Commonwealth versus James Watkins," the clerk called out. Nick jumped to his feet. That was his case. Andi's jury had already left the courtroom. Nick looked around for his witnesses. "Your Honor," the clerk continued, "the defendant is charged with distribution of a cla.s.s B controlled substance, to wit: crack cocaine."

"Is the Commonwealth ready for trial?" Judge Davis asked.

Nick looked again for his two cops as he stepped past the bar and stood at the prosecutor's table. He was glad to see that they weren't in the courtroom. If they didn't show up, the case would get dismissed. After all, it was no big deal: just a drug case. Then he could go check on Monica in arraignments. It was her first day in there alone, a good time for him to come to her aid.

"Commonwealth?" Judge Davis shouted at Nick. "Are you ready for trial? How many witnesses?"

"Two witnesses, Your Honor. Both from the Drug Unit. I haven't seen either of them...." There was a disturbance at the back of the room. Sergeant Robert Fisher and Officer Keith Hall, both in plainclothes, walked through the room's double doors and nodded to Nick.

s.h.i.t. Now he'd have to try the case. And he hadn't done any prep beyond reading the police report. And that was late last night.

He and Fisher exchanged looks and Nick turned to Judge Davis. "The Commonwealth is ready for trial. I would ask for a brief recess so that I might have a chance to speak with the officers."

"Can we resolve this short of trial?" Judge Davis directed his question to the defense attorney. "Probation tells me that this man has no prior convictions. Why don't we take a change of plea and place him on probation?"

"Your Honor, my client doesn't want a felony conviction on his record. We're prepared to go to trial."

"Commonwealth, I'll give you ten minutes to speak with your officers and then we'll impanel a jury." Judge Davis stepped down from the bench.

Nick called both officers over. "Nice of you guys to show up."

"You're lucky we're even here," Fisher said. "We were up until four executing a search warrant. One of the busiest drug houses in the city. We had a nighttime, no-knock warrant. Had some information there were guns in the house. I didn't want my guys getting hurt."

"How'd it go?"

"Fifty grams of crack, another thirty grams of powder c.o.ke, more than five hundred packets of heroin, almost a pound of weed, two Glock 9s and a sawed-off."

"If you guys are tired, go get yourselves some big-a.s.sed coffees because we're going to trial. We only have a couple of minutes. Keith, you made the buy from this guy, right?"

"Yeah, I believe so," Hall said.

"You believe believe so. What does that mean? Look over your report and then we'll talk." so. What does that mean? Look over your report and then we'll talk."

"I read the report. It's just that this happened two years ago."

"You do remember the defendant, though, right?" Nick asked. "Did you look at his booking photo?"

"I did."

"And you don't remember him?"

"His face seems familiar to me, but I don't remember buying drugs from him."

"Familiar doesn't cut it," Nick said. This could work out. Hopefully Monica was keeping a seat warm for him.

"Keith, this is the guy that sold you the drugs," Fisher said. "Look at his booking sheet. Read your report again."

"I know it should should be him, but I can't say for sure." be him, but I can't say for sure."

"All you have to do is testify to what's in the report. Anything outside the report you can say you don't remember. You don't have to make anything up," Fisher said.

"I can't do that," Hall said. "I'd be making the whole thing up. How's that any different from lying?"

"It's not lying if you're testifying from your own report," Fisher said.

"Keith is right. He can't read off a police report. The report is to refresh his memory so that he can testify as to what he actually remembers. If he doesn't remember James Watkins selling him crack, he can't get up and state under oath that he does. In fact, I won't even call him to the stand."

"Are you f.u.c.king kidding me, Nick?" Fisher shouted. "This is the guy. Look at the booking photo and reports. They have the same complaint number. Watkins is our guy. We can't let him off."

"If he's a bad guy, he'll be back out there selling drugs and we'll get him next time. If not, no big deal. Keith can't take the stand and testify to something he doesn't remember. How can I ethically try to prove it to a jury, when Keith doesn't believe it beyond a reasonable doubt?" Maybe bringing ethics into the argument would get Fisher to back off.

Instead Fisher turned back to Hall. "Listen, Keith, you identified him that night and we arrested him and booked him based on your your ID." ID."

"I know you want to win this one, Sarge," Nick said. "But no case is worth the three of us losing our credibility." He looked up at the clock. The ten minutes were up. He turned back to Hall. "Do you need another minute to look at the reports?"

"I've been looking at them all morning, Nick. I don't remember anything."

"Court, all rise," the court officer announced as Judge Davis retook the bench.

The Judge asked Nick, "Is the Commonwealth ready to proceed?"

"No, Your Honor, the Commonwealth is not ready for trial."

"Mr. Costa," Judge Davis said, "you weren't misleading the court when you told me you were ready, were you?"

"No, Your Honor. After speaking with my officers, I realize that we have insufficient evidence to proceed against this defendant."

"Could you be ready if I granted a continuance?" the judge asked.

"I don't believe so, Your Honor."

Judge Davis frowned. "Could both attorneys approach the bench?"

At the sidebar Judge Davis leaned in toward Nick. "Mr. Costa, what happened?"

Nick tried to explain, but Judge Davis cut him off. The defense attorney barely suppressed a grin.

Judge Davis turned his attention to the defendant. In a clear, stern voice he said, "Mr. Watkins, it appears that you have a guardian angel. You had better not let me see you before this court again. This matter is dismissed."

Nick was glad to be rid of the case, but he didn't want Fisher to know it. He turned, planning to commiserate with the sergeant, but only saw Fisher's back as he swung the courtroom doors open and disappeared. Hall shrugged his shoulders like a kid who's lost the game for his team but doesn't really care. He followed Fisher through the doorway.

Nick gathered up his files. On to Monica and her arraignments.

CHAPTER 25.