Red Shadows (11 page)

His mind made up, Weller extended his hand to press the button for the elevator to take him down to the sub-basement morgue. The elevator doors closed, the narrow confines of the elevator closing in around him like a coffin. With a distant electric hum the elevator began moving.

A man going down.

"I can't even begin to explain it," Anderson said, as she turned to face the three men who had gathered in the morgue to hear the results of the psychometric scans. "I performed a psi-scan on each of the three bodies. In each case, it's clear that the killer gained entrance to the apartment disguised as a delivery man. With Margaret Penrith and Eunice Bibbs he claimed to be from Synthi-Flora with a delivery of flowers and candy, just like with Brenda Maddens. With Vincent Henk he claimed to be from EPS Prize Delivery, come to deliver a brand new state-of-the-art Tri-D player that Henk had won by filling in a shoppers' survey at his local buy-mart. But that's not the weird thing. The weird thing is, with each victim the killer looked completely different. With Vincent Henk he was a short, dumpy guy. With Margaret Penrith he was a tall guy. With Eunice Bibbs he was brown-haired, with Brenda Maddens he was blond. And with each victim his face was different, too. If I didn't know better, I'd say we were looking for four different killers."

"But that's impossible," Tek-Judge Yoakim said. "The DNA-"

"I know." Anderson held up a hand to cut him off. "The DNA says the same man was at all their apartments, and hence he must be the killer. Either that or this whole thing is the biggest coincidence in the history of Judicial investigation."

"It's not just that," Noland said from beside Yoakim. "It's not only the DNA that points to a single perp. There's the autopsy evidence as well. All the things we talked about: the single slash wound to the throat and the pattern of increasing severity of mutilation on each victim; all the evidence points to one man being responsible for all the killings. Then, there's the knife. I can't conclusively rule out a different weapon, but there are wound characteristics in each killing that suggest the perp used a Bowie knife. It can't all just be a coincidence."

"No, it can't," Anderson told him. "I agree, and that's why I'm at a loss to explain it. But there it is, all the same. I saw four different delivery men in the victims' psychic impressions. Of course, it might just mean I'm going crazy, but, frankly, I was hoping somebody here might be able to offer a better explanation."

"Maybe he's using a face-changing machine?" Yoakim ventured. "We already know the perp is smart enough to wear a coat made from Stay Kleen. And you know what else? It turns out that none of the blocks where he killed his victims had working surveillance cameras inside them. They either weren't equipped with cameras in the first place, or the cameras they did have were offline for maintenance. It could be the perp is picking blocks like that intentionally. But he still has to worry about being recorded on exterior PSU cameras when he's entering and leaving the building, so maybe he uses a face-changer to alter his features after each killing. He's trying to make it harder for us to catch him."

"No, it wouldn't work," Noland shook his head. "One of the reasons face-changers are so heavily regulated is because it's dangerous to over-use them. The perp killed three people over a nine-hour period. If he was changing his face that frequently, all that would be left of it by now would be a puddle of flesh-coloured goo. And anyway, a face-changer wouldn't account for the differences in his height and weight that Anderson saw in her scans."

"What if the perp's carrying a portable holo-unit?" Warming to his subject, Yoakim's voice grew eager. "Some of those new consumer models out of Hondo are small enough for you to fit them in your pocket. I mean, they're pretty pricey and you've got to be careful about interference if you move too close to anything emitting EM radiation, but that could explain how he changes his appearance."

"It could do," Anderson said as she considered his suggestion. "I don't know though. Holo-units can work fine at a distance, but the illusion doesn't hold up so well when you get in close. Someone can make themselves look taller or shorter, but their arms and legs are still physically the same size. When you're up close, eventually the inconsistencies add up. You start to realise their stride length is wrong, or their arms don't reach as far as they should. Even if you don't realise what's causing it, unconsciously you still know there's something wrong. The perp got really close to his victims, close enough for them to notice the kinds of things I'm talking about, and yet I didn't get any sense of it in the scans. No. It was a good idea, Yoakim, but I just don't think it fits."

Pausing, Anderson considered the matter for a few seconds longer. Then, finally, she sighed.

"All right," she said, glancing at the Tek-Judge. "So maybe we need to look at this thing from a different angle. What about you, Yoakim? Have you got anything for us? Fingerprints? DNA comparisons? Other forensics?"

"Well, despite what I said about the perp trying to make it hard for us to catch him, he doesn't wear gloves," Yoakim said. "I got a bloody handprint on the kitchen table at the Maddens crime scene, as well as a partial thumbprint on the front door that probably belongs to our perp as well. A couple more bloody fingerprints were found at the Bibbs and Henk homicides, but when I ran them through MAC for analysis, I didn't get any hits. It's the same with the perp's DNA. I couldn't find any matches in the Justice Department database. Either the perp is from out of town or he's somehow managed to slip through the system. Guess that explains the lack of gloves."

"Out of town?" For a moment, Anderson cast her mind back to the memories she had experienced during the psychometric scan of each victim. "Now you mention it, there was something in the voices of the delivery men. They all sounded identical. There was a slight accent. I can't quite place it though."

"I can forward the fingerprints and DNA to some of the other city-states and ask them to compare them to their records." Yoakim grimaced. "I wouldn't get your hopes up though. We've got reciprocal arrangements with some of them, but you know what it's like with Inter-Judicial bureaucracy. It can take an age before the wheels are finally set in motion."

"Do it anyway," she told him. "You never know, we might get lucky. Other than that, it sounds like we're batting zero on all fronts."

"Of course, there could be another explanation for these multiple delivery men of yours, Anderson." Judge Weller had been listening to the conversation in brooding silence, and so far he'd kept his own counsel. Now, at last, he spoke. "Not wanting to harp on with a familiar theme, but how do we know we can even rely on the results of your scans?"

"You'll just have to trust my instincts," she replied. Despite the brief period in which they had been apart, it was clear Weller's ill-defined antagonism towards her had in no way lessened. "I told you before, Weller. I've been doing this a long time. Reading psychic impressions is hardly an exact science, but over time you develop an instinct for what you can rely on and what you can't."

"Uh-huh." From the expression on Weller's face, it was clear her answer had not been well received. "You want us to base our entire investigation on your instincts?" he said with a quiet edge to his voice. "I'll tell you what my instincts say, Anderson. They tell me you're-"

"Control to Anderson!" The radio unit on Anderson's belt buzzed into noisy life, cutting him off.

"Anderson receiving, Control. What is it?"

"Just taken a report of a suspected homicide at Mary Kelly Block in this sector." Control's voice was terse. "Thought you'd want to hear about it right away. The witness who discovered the body claims it's been pretty badly mutilated. Also, the victim's throat has been cut. It's impossible to confirm this for definite right now.

"But, you ask me, it sounds like your killer just struck again."

FIVE

RED MUSEUM

She had hurt him. The Sharn woman had
hurt
him.

Walking away from Mary Kelly Block, William looked down uneasily at the improvised bandage he had wrapped around his left hand shortly before he had exited the woman's apartment. The surface of the bandage was spotted with blood, while the wound in his hand throbbed painfully underneath. The Sharn woman had bitten him. Even now he could hardly believe it. He felt shaken. Not so much at the pain of the injury, as at the fact that it had occurred at all. Vaguely, he wondered whether he should get the wound treated. He had heard human saliva was full of bacteria. He could get an infection. Suddenly he realised that once the Judges discovered Velma Sharn had bitten her attacker they would monitor the city's clinics and hospitals for reports of anyone seeking medical attention for a bite wound. He would need to be careful. He had too much work ahead of him to allow a foolish mistake to undermine it.

A mistake; briefly, he considered whether or not he had made one already. Killing the Sharn woman should have been no more difficult than any of the others. Despite that, it had gone badly. What were the teeth marks in his hand if not proof of that? As he crossed Harris Square, mindful that he needed to swiftly put as much distance between himself and his killing ground as possible, he cast his thoughts back to the events of his latest killing and wondered where things had gone wrong.

At first, it had seemed to be proceeding as smoothly as all the rest. He had rung the woman's doorbell and claimed to be a delivery man. When she had opened the door, he had seen that her soulshadow was red. He had told her the same story that he had told the other women: Synthi-Flora delivery, flowers and candy, a secret admirer. He had only varied his story with Vincent Henk because Henk had been a man. When Velma Sharn had invited him in, he had closed the door and told her to turn and face him. Again, that was something of a recent variation, with Henk and the first one - Penrith - he had slit their throats from behind. He had soon learned that killing them that way left him dissatisfied. He wanted to look into their eyes. He wanted to see the fear there as he struck out with the knife, and they realised their lives were over. Accordingly, with Eunice Bibbs and Brenda Maddens he had made them stand and face him. Then, he had done the same with Velma Sharn.

"Lift your chin, Velma," he had told her. "Higher. Lift your chin and soon it will all be over." She had obeyed him. He had pulled out the knife. Then, just as everything had seemed to be going to plan, William had lashed out with the knife and Velma Sharn had done something unexpected, something which William was entirely sure he could never have foreseen.

She had flinched.

At the very last moment, she had moved her head. Instead of hitting the neck, his knife had struck the edge of her lowered chin, the blade deflecting off the hard jawbone to rip upwards through her cheek. Blood spurting from her face, the Sharn woman had tried to scream. He had grabbed her, their bodies falling as his feet slipped on the blood on the polished synth-wood floor. Landing on top of her, he had forced his hand into her mouth to stop her from screaming. In response she had bitten down hard on his hand with her teeth. Desperately fighting to try and free herself, her nails had scratched at his face and neck. Ignoring them, relying on his weight to keep her pinned, he had pushed down with the knife in his right hand as he drew it across her throat. In seconds it had all been over. Arterial blood had pumped out across the floor from the wound in her throat, and her hands had quickly ceased their struggles and fallen limp beside her. Her face had grown slack and lifeless. Her teeth had released his hand. Her eyes had become distant, and then empty. Her aura had dimmed, and disappeared. Their struggle had ended. She was dead. He had killed her. He was the victor.

Now, in the aftermath of that victory, William found he was still confused. He had told her to lift her chin. He had told her to keep still. Yet, at the very last moment, she had disobeyed him. She had moved. She had flinched. How could that have happened?

Thinking back, it occurred to him that her soulshadow had been different to the others. Yes, it was red. All those he killed were red. But the Sharn woman's aura had seemed more active somehow, more vibrant. It was almost as though her soulshadow had been more vivid than that of Brenda Maddens, Eunice Bibbs, or any of the others. At the time, when he had seen how bright and intense the colours of her soul were, it had felt as though it was an even greater prize for him to be able to take her life. He wondered whether that same intensity of her aura had also made her more dangerous. He wondered whether it had given her the power to resist him. Granted, in the end, her resistance had come too late.

Whatever the problems he had encountered along the way, he had managed to kill her just as he had the others. All the same, he realised that in future he would need to be more cautious. The Sharn killing had not gone well. He had almost botched it. He would not care to see that repeated, not when he had so many more reds to kill in this city before his work was done.

Twenty, William thought. I promised the Grey Man I would kill the twenty reds on his list. In his head, he did a quick series of mental calculations. Three last night, then Maddens and the Sharn woman tonight. That makes it five so far. That leaves fifteen, fifteen more reds to kill for the Grey Man. Then, when that is done, I can start killing them for myself. I wonder how many more of them there are in this city? A thousand? Ten thousand? I don't suppose it matters really. If I'm careful and do them one-by-one, eventually I can kill them all. The Judges can't stop me. They think they can. But I'm William Ganz. I'm special. That's why the doctors kept me locked up for all those years, the Grey Man said so. The Judges don't even know who they are dealing with.

Finding himself reassured by the thought, William left Harris Square by the southbound pedway and continued his journey. As he did, he noticed the pain in his hand had not lessened. If anything, it had grown worse. He felt anger flare inside him as he thought of Velma Sharn. Then, just as quickly, he put his anger aside. It was over. He had killed her. Yes, she had injured his hand. Yes, thanks to her, the hand now ached and was all but useless, but he had already resolved the matter to his own satisfaction. To his mind, he had done what was required. No more, no less. Things might not have gone as smoothly as he would have hoped, but he had responded with all due care to the situation. He had reacted properly.