A Textbook Case (lincoln rhyme) Page 2
“Christ,” he muttered.
Lincoln Rhyme had a handsome face, hair a bit long for NYPD regulation but that mattered not at all since he was no longer NYPD. His nose was prominent, his lips full, though they grew thin quickly, like irises dilating in light, when he was displeased, which occurred with some frequency, given his impatience and pole-vault high standards for crime scene work. A pink scar was visible at the base of his throat; it resembled a bullet wound but in fact it was from the ventilator tube, which had kept him alive after the accident.
A breath of autumn wind blew through the open door and a comma of black hair tickled his forehead. He clumsily lifted his right hand to brush it away, a gesture that would have been impossible several years ago, when he’d been completely paralyzed below the neck. Those little things — the inability to scratch an itch, the impossibility of feeding oneself, the incessant nag of the condition — were what wore you down, more than the broader consequences of cataclysmic injury. At the moment, his left arm was bandaged to his body; he’d had additional surgery to give that limb the same awkward, but miraculous, skill of the right.
His brown eyes squinting at the curbside, Rhyme lost count of the boxes Marko was unloading. He spun around in his chair and steamed back toward the townhouse’s parlor. “Thom! Thom!”
The man he was shouting for was practically in sotto voce distance, ten feet away, though not quite in sight. “I’m right here, you don’t need to—”
“We have to do something with this,” Rhyme said, as his caregiver appeared. The young man was today wearing what he usually did on the job — dress slacks, tan today, and dark blue shirt and a floral tie.
“Hi, Amelia.”
Sachs was coming through the front door.
“Thom.” He took the box from her and she headed out for another shipment.
Rhyme glanced from the carton to Thom Reston’s face. “Look at that! And look outside. We need to find places to organize it. Everything in the den… it has to go!”
“I’ll clear some space.”
“We can’t clear it. We have to empty it. I want everything gone.”
“All right.” The aide took off the yellow kitchen gloves he was wearing and began sliding furniture out of the room.
The den was what served as the living room for the townhouse; the other room that had been intended for social liaisons in the Victorian era, the parlor, Rhyme had converted to a forensics lab, as extensive as those in many medium-sized towns. Rhyme was by no means wealthy, but he’d received a good settlement when he’d been injured and he charged a lot for his forensic consulting activities. Much of the income went right back into his company and he had bought as many forensic “toys” as he could afford (that’s how Amelia Sachs had referred to them, after seeing his eyes light up when there’d been a new acquisition; to Rhyme they were simply tools).
“Mel!” Rhyme was shouting again.
This time he was speaking to his associate, who was at an evidence examination station in the parlor. NYPD Detective Mel Cooper, blond though balding and nerdish, was Rhyme’s number-one lab man.
Cooper had arrived three hours ago from Queens, where he both worked, at the police department’s crime scene headquarters, and lived. He would handle much of the lab work in what was being called the Unsub 26 homicide case, so named because the killer, an unknown subject, had killed the victim on East Twenty-sixth Street. Cooper had ready sheets of sterile examination paper covering work surfaces, friction ridge equipment to find latent prints, microscopes, scales, the density gradient unit and the dozens of other tools of the trade needed for forensic analysis.
He, too, was staring at the increasing piles of collection bags, boxes and jars that Sachs, Marko and now Thom were carting in and trying to find a place for.
“This is from one scene?”
“Apparently,” Rhyme said.
“And it wasn’t a mass disaster?” This was the quantity of evidence that resulted from plane crashes and bomb blasts.
“One unsub, one vic.”
Cooper glanced around the parlor and into hallway in dismay. “You remember that line in Jaws, Lincoln? They’re after the shark.”
“Shark,” Rhyme said absently.
“The big shark. They get their first glimpse of it — it’s really big — and one of them says, ‘I think we’re going to need a bigger boat.’ That’s us.”
“Boat?”
“Jaws. The movie.”
“I never saw it,” Rhyme muttered.
* * *
The murder weapon was about the only easy part of the analysis: It was the victim’s car.
The killer had snuck up behind and hit her, probably with a piece of rock or cinderblock, hard enough to stun, but not kill, her. He’d then taped her eyes, mouth, feet and arms and dragged her behind the car. Then Unsub 26 had started the Prius and backed it onto her abdomen, leaving it there. The Toyota is front heavy, with the rear weight about 530 kilos, Rhyme had learned. Only one wheel was resting on the victim, which would have cut down some of the pressure, but the medical examiner said the internal damage was devastating. Still, it took her close to an hour to die — mostly from shock and bleeding.
But apart from the COD determination Rhyme and his team had made no other evidentiary discoveries. In fact, all they’d been able to do was catalog the evidence, everyone chipping in: Sachs, Cooper and Marko. Even Thom was helping.
Lon Sellitto arrived.
Oh, Lord no…
Rhyme had to laugh, though bitterly, seeing that the big detective was carrying yet another massive box of evidence collection bags.
“Not more?” asked a dismayed Mel Cooper; usually he was the epitome of detached calm.
“They found another exit route.” The big detective handed off the box to Marko. “But this should be the end of it.” Then he frowned as he looked around at the hundreds of collection and sample bags lining the walls throughout the first floor of the townhouse. “I don’t have any idea what the fuck’s going on here.”
But Lincoln Rhyme did.
“Oh, what’s going on, Lon, is our unsub’s smart. He’s brilliant.” Rhyme looked around. “I say ‘he,’ but remember, we keep open minds. It could be a she, too. Never make assumptions.”
“He, she or it,” Sellitto muttered. “I still don’t get it.”
The criminalist continued, “You know Locard’s Principle?”
“Sorta.”
“How about you, Marko?”
The young officer blinked and answered, as if reciting. A hundred years ago, he said, the famed French criminalist Edmond Locard developed a theory: In every crime there is an exchange of evidence between the perpetrator and the victim or the scene. The trace elements swapped may be extremely minuscule but they always exist and in most cases can lead to the perp if the investigator has the intelligence and resources to discover them.
“Close enough. Well, at the scene—” Rhyme’s hand rose unsteadily and he pointed at the pictures Sachs had shot of the victim’s body and that Cooper had printed out “—we know the unsub left something of himself. He had to. Locard’s Principle is never wrong. But, you see, he knew he’d leave something.”
Sachs said, “And rather than trying to clean up all traces of himself afterward, he did the opposite. He covered up many clues as to who he is, why he’s doing this, what he has planned next.”
Brilliant…
Too much evidence instead of too little.
Rhyme had to admit he felt a grudging admiration for the unsub. Last year, he had appeared in a documentary on the A&E network, about a woman’s conviction for homicide in Florida. She had been sentenced to life on the basis of evidence that turned out to have been tainted — the crime scene officer had first searched the site of the homicide and then the suspect’s house, accidentally depositing a tiny paint chip from the murder site on the woman’s clothes as he gathered them in her house. This chip placed her at the scene and the jury convicted. A review of forensic
evidence collection procedures revealed that officer had been told to use the same gloves in searching both scenes, as a money-saving measure. In a second trial, the woman was found not guilty.
Rhyme had been on the show to discuss the benefits and the risks of evidence in investigations. He’d commented that all it took was one or two minuscule bits of trace or foreign objects to throw a case off entirely.
In this situation, Unsub 26 had managed to taint the scene with thousands of smokescreens.
Rhyme glanced at Cooper. “How long before we can get started?”
“Still be an hour or two just to categorize everything.”
“Ah.” He wasn’t pleased.
Sachs asked Sellitto, “What’d you and the canvassing teams find out about the vic?”
“Okay,” the detective said, pulling out his notebook, “her name was Jane Levine, thirty-one. Assistant marketing manager for a brokerage firm downtown. No criminal history. She’d been going out with her boyfriend for seven, eight months. He was the guy who reported her missing then found the body. I talked to him for a while but then he lost it. I mean, totally.”
Rhyme noticed Sachs’s abundant lips tighten at this news and he guessed her reaction was how not only the loss but witnessing the horror would affect the man for the rest of his life: that last searing image of his lover dying under such unthinkable circumstances. Rhyme knew that Sachs struggled with the human side of crime — not, as one would think, pushing it away. Rather, she embraced the horror and wanted to keep it raw. She believed it made her a more empathetic and therefore, a better cop.
Though he took the opposite approach — remaining aloof — this was one of the things he loved her for.
He turned his attention back to Sellitto, who was continuing his discussion. “Now, I checked. He’s alibi’d out, the boyfriend.” Family and acquaintances are the number-one suspects — and the number-one guilty perps — in homicides. Sellitto continued, “He was in Connecticut with his parents last night. He got back in the city about eight this morning and went to her apartment. We data mined him. Wits, tickets and security cams confirm he was there when she died. GPS, too. He’s clean.”
That young crime scene guy asked, “Rape, Detective?”
“Nothing sexual, no. No robbery. She still had her keys, wallet, purse, jewelry.”
Sachs asked, “Any former boyfriends, stalkers?”
“According to the boyfriend and her sister, over the last couple years she went out with one guy from work, one guy from her health club, one guy from church. Real casual. The sister said they all ended okay and there were no hard feelings. Anyway the last one she broke up with was about six months ago just before she met the current guy.”
The detective continued, “No organized crime connection, not surprising, and she wasn’t a whistleblower or witness. I can’t find a motive at all.”
Rhyme didn’t much care for motive. His theory was that why people killed was largely irrelevant. A paranoid schizophrenic could kill someone because he believed that person was part of the advance guard from a planet in Alpha Centauri bent on capturing the world. What got him convicted was his prints on the knife, not his mad thinking.
“Well, that tells us something, right?” Rhyme asked, grimacing. “If there’s no boyfriend-done-it, rapist-done-it, mugger-done-it scenario, I’m thinking it’s a psycho.” He happened to be looking at the young crime scene officer. “Oh, I know they don’t use that word anymore. But it’s a lot more felicitous than ‘individual displaying antisocial personality disorder traits.’ ”
Marko nodded, obviously having no idea what to think about that pronouncement.
It was Sellitto who explained, “What Linc’s saying is that he could be a serial doer. Meaning he’s going to strike again.”
“You think so, sir?” the young man asked.
“If that’s the case it also means he’s picking victims at random. And somewhere in that morass—” a nod toward the mountains of evidence “—is the answer to who the next one’s going to be.”
3
Mel Cooper was wrong.
It took nearly seven more hours to finish just categorizing the evidence. At 3:15 in the morning they decided to knock off for the night.
Sachs stayed with Rhyme, as she did three or four nights a week, and Cooper slept in the guest room. Sellitto returned to his house, where his partner, Rachel, whom he described as his “Better Other,” was waiting for him. Marko headed back to his home, wherever that might be.
By nine the next morning the team, minus the young CS officer, was back.
As in every case they worked, Rhyme asked for a whiteboard chart listing the evidence. Sachs did the honors. She moved stiffly to the board. Rhyme noted the hitch in her leg; she suffered from arthritis and the extended search in a damp, subterranean garage had taken its toll. Once or twice, reaching to the top to start a new entry, she winced.
Finally she finished — all three boards in Rhyme’s parlor were required. And that was just to list what the teams had found. There was no analysis at all, much less insightful deductions that could be made about sources or inferences as to prospective victims.
Everyone in the room fell silent and stared.
UNSUB TWENTY-SIX HOMICIDE
Location: 832 E. 26th Street
Victim: Jane Levine, thirty-one
COD: Internal injuries from weight of vehicle
TOD: Approximately 4:00 a.m.
General notes:
• Robbery not motive
• No sexual assault
• Victim was not a known witness, no one appeared to be delivering “messages”
• No drug or other illegal or organized crime connection
• No known enemies
• Present boyfriend has alibi
• Dated casually men met through work, health club, church — no bad breakups or stalkers
• Appears to be a random crime, likely a serial perpetrator
Evidence:
• Approximately 82 pounds of household trash, covering auto ramp to garage and floor of garage, probably from Dumpster in apartment building
• Duct tape
— used to subdue victim
— four nearly empty rolls located, probably taken from trash
— to be determined if one was the source of the tape used on victim
• Hair, some naturally detached from follicles, some cut
— approximately 930 separate samples
— human, animal? To be determined
• Shattered cinderblock
— one piece used to strike victim from behind
— all the pieces were spray painted, obscuring evidence (see paint below)
• Newspapers, magazines, direct mail pieces, apparently from trash and recycling bins; used, many items handled; therefore containing friction ridge prints
• Plastic spoons, forks, knives, food containers, beverage cups, coffee cartons, all used
— 185 samples
— DNA, to be determined
• Swabs of human and/or animal organic materials, revealed by alternative light source
— saliva, semen, plasma, sweat, vaginal fluids?
— possibly delivered to the scene via strewing trash and medical waste
— 742 swabs taken from different locations
— DNA, to be determined
• Fibers, cloth
— 439 samples
• Fibers, nylon
— 230 samples
• Fibers, metal
— 25 samples
• Paint
— used throughout the site, presumably to obscure actual evidence
— oil-based spray
— Cans located, nearly empty, suggesting they were found in trash, rather than purchased
— eight to ten friction ridge prints on each can
• Latex gloves, used
— 48 separate L/R hand gloves
— DNA, to be determined
— Friction ridge prints, to be determined
• Dirt, dust
— approximately two pounds in total
— indeterminate number of sources
— at least 12 main variations in composition
• Food crumbs
— 34 samples
• Leaves
— 249 collected
— from approximately 27 known trees/bushes
— 73 unidentified
• Grass, lawn
— 376 samples
• Grass, decorative
— 64 samples
• Excrement
— human/animal, to be determined
— DNA, to be determined
• Light bulbs
— from parking garage
— removed, then shattered
• Powdered substances
— 214 samples
— non-narcotic
— possibly over-the-counter medicine, pulverized
— laundry detergent
— eight different brands
• Liquid substances still liquid or dried residue
— bleach
— ammonia
— dish soap
— alcohol
— water
— soft drinks
— coffee
— gasoline
— milk
• Organic tissue
— 346 samples
— human/animal, to be determined
— DNA, to be determined
— could be food
• Fingernail clippings
• Bones
— 42 samples
— human/animal, to be determined (apparently animal)
— DNA, to be determined
— could be food
— some definitely fish bones, chicken or other fowl
• Footprints
— 23, male and female, 18 different sizes, five associated with the victim’s shoes
— prints of feet in crime scene, surgical booties
• vapors in crime scene
— small fire set in corner, newspapers, possibly to obscure smell of the unsub’s aftershave or other odor
— spray paint fumes.
• Disposable cigarette lighters
— 18 separate lighters found
— probably taken from trash — most empty of butane