Spider's Web (25 page)

Mitchell closed his mouth, dumbfounded. His fault. Always his fault.

“The department is receiving some very bad press,” Bailey continued. “The chief says it makes us look as if we have no sense of humor.”

“Sense of humor?” Mitchell said, his voice high pitched. “Seriously?”

“Look,” Bailey said sharply, “if this could help us catch the guy, I’d have your back. But holding that dumb couple in jail is just pure spite, plain and simple. We’re letting them out.”

“Fine!”

Bailey put a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder. “What’s going on, Mitchell?”

“Tanessa—”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You were acting like a zombie with a chip on his shoulder before your sister was attacked. You’ve lost your focus. My dad would say that you’re walking like a drunk man in a field of strawberry pies. What is going on with you?”

Mitchell’s face went blank. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice straight. “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

“You can take a vacation day or two. Bernard can fill in for you until—”

“I’ll be fine, Captain. Thanks.”

Bailey looked as if he was about to say something else when Jacob burst into the squad room.

“Come on,” Jacob told Mitchell. “We have to go.”

“What’s going on?” Bailey asked.

“Did you see the message that Tanessa received from the killer?” Jacob asked. “It’s a samurai sword leaning against a wall. There’s a window above it.”

“I saw,” Bailey said.

“Through the window you can see a cellular antenna tower, and Peterson’s Mojo,” Jacob said. Peterson’s Mojo was the tallest building in town. It was a slick office building that had been built by Mayor Peterson fifteen years earlier, just after his wife left him and married a senator. He’d named it Glenmore’s Hub, but since everyone assumed the building was designed so tall to compensate for something, Peterson’s Mojo was the informal name that had stuck.

“I just came from Matt’s lab,” Jacob said. “For the last hour we’ve been trying to triangulate the location of the room in which the picture was taken. It was tricky, because there are a lot of cellular antennas, but we’re pretty sure we found the right one.”

Mitchell stood up, putting on his jacket, his heart beating fast, as a smile appeared on Jacob’s face.

“We have the killer’s address,” Jacob said.

Chapter Twenty-Three

It was a bit after ten in the evening when Mitchell parked the car on the curb by the small shabby apartment building in Hillside Drive. He and Jacob stepped out of the car and looked around. The street lights were all either flickering or broken, but even in their meager light it was possible to see the chaos on the building’s walls. Crude signatures in black spray paint marred nicer graffiti signatures in pink, green, and blue, and those were clearly sprayed over a badly-drawn graffiti imitation of Pink Floyd’s
The Wall
album cover. The original color of the building couldn’t be seen.

Looking up, Mitchell could see the neglected, peeling, soot-covered wall. The graffiti on the bottom of the wall was the building’s most elegant feature.

Two squad cars were parked on the sidewalk just by the main entrance. One officer—a guy named Ron or Rob, Mitchell wasn’t entirely sure—stood by the door, gun in hand.

“What’s going on, Officer?” Jacob asked, walking briskly toward the man. “Did you get him?”

“They are just about to break down the apartment door, Detective,” Ron/Rob said. “I was stationed here in case he tried to make a break for it.”

“Any back door to the building?”

“No, sir, but there is an emergency stairway.” The cop pointed toward the right side of the building. “If he goes down those stairs, they’ll radio me.”

Jacob didn’t seem happy with this arrangement, but said nothing. Instead he strode into the building, with Mitchell close behind.

They heard shouting from upstairs, and then the loud, sharp sound of a door breaking. They rushed up the stairs, leaping over two and three stairs at a time, guns drawn. Mitchell reached the third floor seconds before Jacob. He saw the open door, its lock broken. Someone shouted “Clear!” from inside the apartment.

Mitchell nearly rushed inside, but Jacob grabbed his arm.

“Those cops in there are tense, trigger-happy, and looking for a killer,” he said. “If you pop up behind them in plainclothes, holding a gun, one of them might shoot.”

Mitchell could see the sense in that. He waited with Jacob by the door. After a few seconds they heard someone shout, “All clear! There’s no one here!”

“Damn it,” Jacob muttered. “They should have scouted ahead first.”

Mitchell felt a wave of disappointment and lethargy wash over him. “He’ll probably see the patrol cars outside and vanish,” he said. “We blew our chance.”

“We’ll see,” Jacob said and called out, “Detectives Cooper and Lonnie here! We’re coming inside!”

The apartment was small, incredibly dirty, and almost devoid of furniture. There were two small rooms, one bathroom, and a kitchen. One of the rooms had an old mattress on the floor. The other room had a small, rickety wooden table and a folding chair in the middle of the room, plus a TV standing on a small prefab stand in the corner. The window that had appeared in the message to Tanessa was in the makeshift bedroom. The three officers lingered around the apartment, unsure what to do, the anticlimax of the whole thing etched deeply into their faces.

“I’m not sure this is the right place,” one of them said sullenly.

“What were you expecting?” Mitchell asked. “A stock of weapons? A coffee mug with the inscription
Best Serial Killer Ever
?”

“I don’t know,” the unhappy cop answered. “Pictures of the victims or something?”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” Mitchell said. “Pictures of the victims with their eyes cut out. A full-sized image of one of them, drawn in blood and feces. Something like that?”

“Yeah, I guess,” the cop said, ignoring Mitchell’s sarcastic tone.

“You watch too many movies,” Jacob said. “Get those patrol vehicles away from the building. Any serial killer coming back from a trip to the supermarket would disappear if he saw those cars waiting for him.”

The cops left the apartment.

“Okay.” Jacob sighed. “I guess we should get Matt and his crew over here. At the very least, I hope to get some fingerprints and DNA samples from this dismal apartment.”

Hannah was exhausted. It had been one of the crazier days for their squad, and she hadn’t been spared. She’d just spent four hours going door to door around the flower shop, looking for anyone who’d seen anything. Two witnesses had actually heard the commotion and seen a man run out of the flower shop and get into a car that quickly drove away. However, their descriptions of the man and the car were so hazy and conflicting that merging them into a coherent statement was practically impossible. Hannah was used to witnesses describing events differently, but having one of them say the car was a blue Ford and the other one saying she was sure the car was red had nearly made Hannah scream.

Jacob had called to update her that they had found the apartment where the killer had been staying, but he wasn’t there. George, Captain Bailey’s florist friend, said he was certain he had hit the killer, and blood spatter in the flower shop corroborated this. Was the killer dead in his car somewhere in the city? Had he gone for help? Bernard was checking with all the private clinics, nurses, doctors, and vets around the city, searching for a man who had turned up with a bullet wound. So far, no luck.

It was getting very late, and Hannah decided to go home for the night. Images of her bed beckoned to her. The paperwork and the hundreds of yet-unchecked leads could wait until tomorrow. She grabbed her handbag and walked toward the squad room door. And then, of course, the phone on her desk rang.

She nearly let it go to voicemail. After all, they had almost missed her. It was late. She
really
wanted to get to bed.

She answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this the Glenmore Park Detective Squad?” a feminine voice asked.

“That’s right.”

“Hi, I’m Officer Veronica Marsen from the state police. Who am I talking to?”

“I’m Detective Shor,” Hannah said, impatient. “What’s this about?”

“It’s about the shooting that occurred today at the flower shop. As you know, we are working with your department on this case, and I wanted some updates regarding this development for our reports.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What was the name of the woman who was hurt?”

“Officer Tanessa Lonnie,” Hannah said.

The woman on the other side paused for a moment. “Officer… yes. Of course. We are talking about the officer that… Hang on, I have this report here…”

“Tanessa was the bait,” Hannah said. “Listen, can we do this tomorrow? It’s really late.”

“Yes, of course. I’m really sorry. I just have a few more things for my report, and I was assured your full cooperation, so…”

“Fine,” Hannah nearly spat. “What else?”

“I understand that the shooter escaped?”

“The shooter? You’ve got it wrong, Miss Marsen. The killer was the one who was shot. He attacked Tanessa with a sword.”

“Oh! I don’t know why the initial report didn’t mention that! Okay. So the killer was shot and ran away, and Officer Lonnie… that’s extraordinary. Don’t you have a Detective Lonnie on the case?”

“Yeah, sure—that’s her brother. He’s…” Hannah stopped mid-sentence. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Officer Marsen. I think I have all the details I need. Goodbye!” The line went dead, and Hannah was left gripping the phone, her blood running cold.

Officer Veronica Marsen
. The woman might as well have called herself Officer Nancy Droop. There was no way in hell the Staties were so clueless regarding the flower shop shooting. The chief updated them constantly.

Who had she talked to?

Matt Lowery carefully dusted the window, the powder scattering down on the sill. Three black ovals materialized near the left side of the pane. The ridges of at least two of the fingerprints were plain to see. A
plain arch
and a
spiral whorl
, his mind registered distractedly, classifying the fingerprints. The third looked like a plain arch as well, but he couldn’t be sure, as it was badly smeared. He put the powder and brush back inside the fingerprinting kit that lay by his feet, and grabbed the camera from the table. He took two photographs of the prints. Then he grabbed the tape from the kit, and carefully applied a strip to one of the fingerprints. He lifted the tape, which now contained the print, from the window, and stuck it on a small card. He did this twice more. Then he wrote “N. Facing Window” on all three cards. He added those to the nine other cards he had already collected from the bathroom. Assuming this really was the place where the killer had been staying, he hadn’t tried to wipe the place clean. They’d already found several hairs in the shower and on the mattress as well. The apartment was bound to contain endless DNA samples to check against CODIS, even if the hair amounted to nothing.

He sighed, stretching to his full 5’1”. Plenty of work today, and this apartment was as boring as a crime scene could be, especially considering the fact that a serial killer had probably lived here.

Violet was in the kitchen, extracting samples from the sink and the cupboard handles. The television set probably had a few prints as well. If the apartment had been wiped clean, they’d have tried to get some fingerprints from the wooden table and the chair, or perhaps from the bathroom wall. But since the person living here had been so accommodating, Matt was prepared to call it a night. He glanced at the time. Nearly midnight.

“Violet!” he called. “How much longer?”

“Just a few more minutes!” she called back from the kitchen.

He looked around one last time and was about to leave the room when he noticed something. The floors of the entire apartment were covered in dust, food stains, and random dirt. However, just by the mattress there was a small section of the floor that was a bit cleaner. He knelt by it, trying to trace it in his mind. It was triangular, one side aligned with the mattress’ edge. Someone had moved the mattress recently, and it had dragged the dust and dirt with it. Matt pulled the mattress aside. There was nothing behind it. He lifted it up, and saw nothing out of the ordinary—just more dirt.

Up close, he examined the floor tiles under the mattress; one seemed loose. He pulled out a sharp pocket knife and stuck it in the space between the tiles, lifting the loose one.

There was a small round hole in the mortar under the tile, and it held something. Using a pair of tweezers, Matt carefully pulled it out.

It was a dusty, sealed nylon bag. It contained a lock of red hair.

Chapter Twenty-Four

There was a tense silence in the squad room when Mitchell walked in, a bit late. Usually they’d drink coffee, banter with each other; Bernard would moan about his lack of sleep, Jacob would thump his keyboard and complain about the computer. But that morning there was nothing but dark looks and an undercurrent of anger.

“What’s going on?” he asked, not really wanting to know.

“Check out the
Glenmore Park Gazette
,” Jacob said.

Mitchell felt heavy and drained as he sat down in front of his computer. He opened the browser, and slowly typed in the three first letters of the
Gazette
’s URL; the browser completed the rest. The main page popped up, a picture of
Hummingbird Blossoms
in the top article. The headline was
Deadly Messenger Evades Police Trap
.