The Killing Code (4 page)

“
She arrived in a taxi at ten minutes past eight. I knew you would enquire so I already checked the log.”

“
Did she seem OK to you at the time?”

“
Dr. Benson was her usual, polite and pleasant self. She always took the time to say hello to us.”

“
OK, can you show me the residential elevator footage from eight minutes past eight tonight please.”

“
Yes sir.” replied one of the seated guards.

The monitor showed the interior of all four
elevators simultaneously on the same screen. As the time code passed through into ten minutes past eight, they observed Dr. Benson enter one of the elevators where a small man in a hat and overcoat was already standing. They could not see the man’s face or physical features because of his hat and coat but he stood diagonally to the right and behind the doctor. As the car travelled upward, they saw the man’s hand dart out to the base of her skull then pull back and then his other hand thrust out toward the floor selector buttons.

“
Stop it there!” Alan’s raised voice commanded. “Can you get rid of the split-screen and make that one elevator full screen?”

“
Of course. These cameras are not the usual cheap black and whites you see in some places.”

The man pushed some buttons and the screen showed the one elevator more clearly now.
He made the digital recording start again from just before the man’s hand extended to the back of Helen’s neck.

“
Do you want slo-mo?”

“
That would be great!”

The image played at about one third
of its normal speed and Alan squinted, straining to see exactly what was happening on the small security monitor. As the man’s hand reached her neck, he asked the guard to freeze the image. The man’s gloved hand held a small, strange looking implement to Helen’s neck for a split second before withdrawing. Alan’s eyes narrowed into a frown and he tersely instructed the guards to give him a copy of the elevator footage five minutes before and after the event, so he could take it back to the crime lab and examine it properly on the large, high definition monitors. He also asked them to forward a copy of all the parking level and front entrance camera footage for the previous fifteen minutes to the station as soon as they could get it copied.

Alan’s
mind was racing now. According to Jim Benson, no one else could have gotten into their apartment so it had to be either spousicide or suicide but the image clearly showed a third party do something to the doctor before she got to her home. But if this man was to blame for her death, how could it be? What could someone possibly do to make another person commit suicide? His thoughts were now like a guided missile laser-locked on target. He grabbed the copy of the digital footage from the guard as soon as he’d burned the DVD for him and strode briskly toward his car. He was in no mood for traffic hold-ups so he turned on the flashing police lights situated behind the radiator grill and in the rear parcel shelf then began speeding through the lights and traffic to the station. This was out of character for the normally patient and methodical detective but he sensed he had to get on top of this as quickly as possible.

He skidded to a halt in the police parking garage and strode briskly to the stairs
then quickly made his way to the Crime Lab.

“
Larry, can you get this footage up on the big LED monitor straight away please!” he called to the technician as he walked through the sliding glass doors.

“
Sure can Al. Is it a disc or a hard drive?”

Alan handed Larry the disc
without speaking and he inserted it into a computer. He motioned for Alan to sit at the control panel and pointed to the controls.

“
The joystick is to control forward and reverse motion as well as slo-mo and freeze-frame. This knob controls zoom. Be my guest.”

Larry
Phillips enjoyed working with Alan. He was polite, highly intelligent, thorough and intuitive but usually much calmer than he was now. Larry knew that it would take something out of the ordinary to cause his haste so he was happy to let him take the controls. As the image came up on the high definition, fifty five inch LED screen, Alan quickly familiarized himself with the controls. He moved the image forward until he reached the point where the man’s hand went to the back of Helen’s neck and froze the image.

“
I still can’t make this out Larry. Any ideas?”

They both went around
the control panel to get closer to the monitor and peered intently at the image on the massive screen. It looked like a very small glue gun but the image was slightly blurred because of the speed with which the man’s hand had moved.

“
Sorry Alan but with the speed of movement, there doesn’t seem to be a clear frame.”

Alan suddenly lurched back from the monitor to grab th
e phone. He picked up the hand piece and quickly dialed the Medical Examiner.

“
Dr. Wescott; it’s Alan.”

“
Yes Alan, did you forget something?”

“
No Doctor. Please don’t take my tone the wrong way but this is urgent. Can you examine the back of Dr. Benson’s neck right now and tell me what you see.”

“
Well, OK detective but…”

“Now please d
octor!” Alan’s voice came tersely.

“
OK, I’m on it. I’ll put you on speaker.”

Dr. Wescott carefully rolled Helen’s body on the examination table and drew the fluorescently lit magnifying glass toward her on its folding arm.
He gently pulled her hair away from her neck and searched for anything out of the ordinary. As he came to the hairline approximately three quarters of an inch to the right of the centre of her spine, he called out.

“
I’ve got something here - looks like a very small puncture wound!”

“
Can you tell what it was made by?”

“
Not really but I can tell you that it was smaller than a normal hypodermic needle, maybe even smaller than an insulin needle as far as I can tell. If you hadn’t specified the location, I might not have picked it up at all. Does it tell you something detective?”

“
It tells me three things doctor: This wasn’t suicide, the husband is innocent, and I need to find out who Bryan Adler is. But first, we need to examine the rest of the security footage.”

Chapter
3

Beach’s frustration was palpable and filled the crime lab like a fog as he stared intently at the big screen. Larry was wary of interrupting his thoughts but decided it was time to break the deadlock.

“
I’m sorry Alan but there really is nothing there. We’ve been through every frame of the security footage from the parking levels, the entry and exit, the elevators and the twelfth floor hallway that the Eleanor guards couriered over. This guy really knew what he was doing. Not once did he expose any recognizable feature to any camera.”

“
I know Larry. It’s not your fault - I’m just frustrated!” Alan said in an uncharacteristic tone. “I’ll leave you to your work. I apologize for my mood and for the wasted hours.”

“
That’s OK but I don’t think it was a waste of time. At least you know that this guy is a professional, which indicates he had a specific agenda.”

Alan looked thoughtfully at his colleague.

“You know what Larry? You’re right. I’ve been looking at this the wrong way and you’ve corrected my focus. I was so knotted up trying to find some physical identifier that I missed the subtlety. That is a wise observation and I commend you.”

“
Thanks Alan - glad I could help. What’s your next step?”

“
I’ve got to go with the only other lead I have for now and find Bryan Adler. If that doesn’t lead to anything then I’ll have to start interviewing friends, neighbors and colleagues. Thanks again. See you later.”

“
Good luck Alan.” Larry called out as Beach breezed out the door.

Arriving at his desk, Alan woke his computer and began searching the police database for his quarry.
There were two Bryan Adlers in the local database with minor traffic infringements but neither had a history of violence. One of them was a retired school teacher in his late seventies and the other was a former soldier who had recently been paralyzed by an IED while on a mission in the Middle East. He couldn’t see any kind of connection between them and Helen Benson so he dismissed them both and widened his search. Accessing the national crime database, he came across some more interesting characters but one stood out in particular.

“
Bryan Adler; convicted serial killer and diagnosed psychopath – now here’s something I can work with.” he murmured to himself.

He scribbled down the details of the psychiatric hospital where Adler was being held and picked up the phone to make an appointment.
The facility was about one hundred and fifty miles away, near a small town in West Virginia. His appointment was set for ten o’clock the next morning so he decided to drive there that night and stay in a hotel to be fresh for his meeting with the serial killer. He then went to Lieutenant Walker’s office to get the necessary permission to investigate across the state line. It was a request that would require a good deal of paperwork so Alan prepared himself for his boss’s reaction. After knocking on the door, he opened it and walked over to Thomas Walker’s desk. He fully expected an unpleasant conversation with some shouting thrown in so he decided he might as well just dive in and come straight to the point. As Alan finished his request, Walker looked up, his face tight in a grimace. Alan steeled himself for the tirade but it didn’t come.

“
This is a major pain in my ass Beach! But I trust your judgment so go ahead.” his head tilted down toward the pile of paperwork in front of him as he sighed loudly. “I’ll start on the documents and call the West Virginia State Police to get clearance. I assume you’ll be armed?”

“
You know me boss; safety first.” Alan smiled widely.

“
Don’t be a smartass Beach. Just go! I’ll have the approval by the time you hit the border. Call me with the name and fax number of your hotel so I can send you the form. And don’t make any trouble over there!”

“
No sir, I’ll be in and out before you know it.”

“
Yeah, yeah… Well, what are you waiting for? Go!” Thompson waved dismissively at the door.

Alan always found his boss’s
gruff manner bemusing. He knew that underneath the tough exterior, Thompson was a great father to his children, a loving husband to his wife and a truly good man. He supposed the demeanor was designed to convey an air of authority but he wasn’t fooling Alan.

“
Thanks boss. See you in a couple of days.”

Alan returned to his desk, shut down his computer terminal and grabbed a couple of things from his drawer
. As he rounded the corner that led to the stairs, he saw Richard Collier ascending from the car park with a look of malicious intent. Beach didn’t know what to expect but was in no mood for any of Collier’s childish nonsense so he decided to preempt him with some nonsense of his own. “Walker is looking for you and he doesn’t seem happy.” he lied.

Collier
creased his eyes in disbelief but was compelled to pick up his pace. He walked briskly past without a word and Alan started quickly down the stairs. Beach knew what he’d done was stupid and would come back to bite him later but it had the desired effect. He had made it to the car park unmolested and Collier’s footsteps tailed off in the distance. He jumped into his car to drive home and pack an overnight bag.

Once home, Alan had a shower and changed his clothes.
He sat on the end of the bed with a towel wrapped around his waist and took a moment to reflect on the investigation so far. As he collected his thoughts and put everything into logical order, his sad, slate grey eyes were drawn to the wall in front of him. Hanging there was a beautiful black and white photograph from his wedding to Kelly. The ornate, silver framed picture was tastefully composed and despite the formal circumstance, the couple looked relaxed, in love, and full of hope for the future. That was over ten years ago and they had two wonderful years of marriage before he lost the only woman he had ever loved to a car crash. Alan clearly recalled the unbearable pain of the event and how his initial disbelief and anger had eventually faded to emptiness and hopelessness. His loss was so profound it had very nearly consumed him. He couldn’t see a path forward and didn’t know how to go on without her. In the end, the only thing that kept him going was his work, into which he threw himself entirely, to drown out the pain.

Over time,
his constant and total immersion in cases began to numb the pain to some extent and he was left in a kind of emotional no man’s land. Over the years, friends and family had tried several times to set him up with other women but the wall he’d built around his heart prevented any chance of intimacy and he remained alone. The one positive outcome of this event in his life was that through his focus and dedication, he had developed into the most successful homicide detective in the city of Boston. His talent and potential as an investigator were obvious - so much so that he had been promoted to the rank of detective much younger than the norm. The tragic irony was that he would probably never have realized his full potential as a detective if Kelly hadn’t died that terrible day, all those years ago.

Looking at that photograph always brought
the memories and pain flooding back but doing so held a morbid attachment for him. Despite knowing the act was self destructive and part of the reason he couldn’t move on, he just couldn’t stop. Over the years, his mind had twisted events to apportion blame on himself for his wife’s death and this ritual had become a form of self-flagellation. Even though Kelly was driving alone when the accident happened, Alan’s mind had invented emotional tendrils to link him inextricably to the event. He would obsess over such unrealistic possibilities as: if he had been with her, he could have prevented it, or if he had bought her a safer car, she would have been better protected from the impact.

While Alan was at his lowest after Kelly’s death, his boss had demanded he see a police psychologist.
Alan resisted as long as he could until it became obvious the lieutenant wouldn’t take, ‘no’ for an answer. Seeing a shrink was the last thing he wanted to do but in the end he gave in and visited Dr. Sarah Kellerman Psy.D., in the Police Administration Building. Their initial meeting was not overly productive because of Alan’s unwillingness to open up but the doctor had anticipated his resistance and gradually, over the ensuing weeks they started to make some headway. She had educated him in the five stages of grief and the effect each stage had in the recovery process. They talked about his unhealthy thoughts of self blame and inability to let go and move forward with life.

“
You know Alan, as strange as this may seem, the act of blaming yourself for something which you could not possibly have foreseen or influenced in any way, is actually your subconscious mind’s way of coping with your conscious need for control.” she explained carefully.

“
Goodness! There’s some well versed psycho-babble.” Alan smiled.

“
That psycho-babble as you call it, simply means that your conscious mind can’t cope with the reality of your loss, and the fact that you had no control over the event. This caused you to feel that you have no real control over anything in life, so you developed this coping mechanism to deal with it. Your subconscious found unreasonable ways to blame yourself and rationalizes these illogical thoughts to your conscious mind. It’s very similar to the phenomenon wherein children from broken homes blame themselves for their parents’ divorce so they can make sense of it in their own minds. It is a common coping mechanism which you must eventually overcome to move forward. For now though, it remains in place to keep you sane.”

“
You psychologists have the most eloquently complex means of putting things in such a way as to be incomprehensible, hence the term psycho-babble.”

She stared blankly at Beach and said nothing.

“I’m teasing now doctor – I understand what you mean and I will take it on board.”

Their sessions ha
d continued for a few months until Alan decided that his subconscious was not ready to let go and likely would not be ready for some time to come. At their final session, he thanked Dr. Kellerman for her kindness and they agreed that he should reach out to her in times of need.

He had learned from his visits with Sarah but the lessons faded into the distance when he gazed at th
at happy moment frozen in time on his wall. How he missed Kelly. How he longed for the happiness and love they’d shared. How could he have let this happen, he would torture himself time and time again. He consciously realized now, why he’d been so gentle questioning Jim Benson. He saw the pain in Jim’s eyes; the same sickening, unrelenting blend of soul destroying emotions that he had felt when he lost Kelly. His intense empathy for Jim wouldn’t allow him to cause further pain so he maintained his consoling demeanor despite the fact that the odds always favor the husband as a suspect when a wife dies in suspicious circumstances.

Having had his fill of self-blame, Alan stood himself up and pulled an old leather overnight bag f
rom his closet. He stuffed the required clothing and toiletries into it and got dressed for the trip. With preparations complete, he went to the freezer to grab a frozen dinner and tossed it into the microwave. Waiting for the machine’s timer to bleep, he thought about how he should eat better and exercise more often but could never seem to spare the time. As the oven played its musical notification, he retrieved his dinner and plopped it on the kitchen counter to eat. His mind wandered in an idle daydream to the frozen food factory as he imagined thousands of plates with little divided compartments rolling along the conveyer belt, machines dropping their premeasured portions of prepared stuff into their targeted spots then moving along to be packaged and sent off to the supermarket. He thought how this used to be quality time he would have spent talking to Kelly but now just needed to fill the void. Shaking himself out of it, he finished eating and dropped the plate into the trash can.

“
Time to hit the road.” he said to himself, scooping up his overnight bag.

Alan estimated the drive would take just under three hours.
He figured there was bound to be a motel in town or near the high security psychiatric institution so he hadn’t bothered to book ahead. The drive was uneventful and as fortune would have it, the facility was just off the main road he was traveling on the way into town. A few miles further to the edge of town, he spotted a cheap but comfortable looking motel, parked his car and went to check in. Alan rang the bell and the night clerk emerged from his lodgings behind the registration counter. He was a thin fellow in his late fifties, with unkempt hair and grey stubbly whiskers. Smiling to greet Alan, he revealed a number of missing teeth.

“
Are ya traveling alone Mr… uh… Beach?” the clerk asked as he peered at Alan’s driver’s license.

“
Yes, it’s just me, and just one night please.”

“
Travelin’ salesman, are ya?”

“
No, just visiting someone.”

“
Well, we don’t tolerate no funny business round here so I’ll be keepin’ an eye out.”

“
You do that sir.”

Alan leant to pick up his bag and t
he man suddenly froze in a macabre, toothless grimace of shocked fear and Alan very nearly laughed at the bizarre image until he realized that his jacket had opened, exposing his Glock 9mm in its holster.