The Stolen Ones (26 page)

From the early seventeen hundreds to the First World War, Estonia was ruled by the Russians. In 1917 Estonia declared its independence, and by 1920 Russia recognized it as a sovereign state. Unfortunately, for the people of Estonia, that independence was short-lived. The Second World War ushered in the darkest time in Estonia’s history. Between 1939 and 1945, as a result of both the Nazi and the Soviet occupations the country lost 180,000 citizens.

Those dark days – years of oppression, starvation and brutality – continued for decades. In the late 1980s, with the onset of Glasnost, controls on the freedom of expression were eased, and the singing of banned songs caught fire through Estonia, resulting in what was known as ‘the singing revolution’.

In 1991 the Soviets once again recognized Estonia as a sovereign nation. Three years later the last of the Soviet troops left the country.

Byrne did an image search for Estonia. From what he found the capital city of Tallinn was beautiful. It looked to be from another time, a beautifully preserved and restored medieval city. The people seemed to have kind faces; the streets were clean and not covered in litter and graffiti.

In the course of his online searches he had a brainstorm. It might’ve been a Bushmills storm, but nonetheless he navigated to a web page for the administrative offices for the city of Tallinn. He clicked around for a while, and found the page for the municipal police department. He located the contact email address, opened his email program.

He rationalized what he was about to do this way: If, as the woman at Villanova had told him, the context of that which was being discussed in the audio recording was ‘disturbing’, then it probably wouldn’t make the best sense to have a citizen – or, more accurately, someone who was not in law enforcement – do the translation.

God knew the world had big ears these days.

Byrne composed a brief email query to a man named Peeter Tamm, listed as the media relations officer for
the city of Tallinn municipal police department, requesting help in the translation of the recording. He didn’t know if he was following the correct PPD protocol when it came to things like this, because he had never before encountered a thing like this.

Before he could stop himself, he hit
SEND
, and heard the email begin its journey across the Atlantic.

The evidence from the four homicides – Robert Freitag, Joan Delacroix, Edward Richmond and Dustin Green – was posted on a giant white board in the duty room. Arrows made what few connections there were.

The autopsy of Edward Richmond concluded that the man had died from asphyxiation due to strangulation. The murder weapon was, presumptively, the steel wire with which he had been propped between the trees in Priory Park, a wire that had crushed the man’s trachea. The angle of the wound indicated that the strangulation had occurred when the man’s body weight pulled him down. The time of death was very accurately pinpointed at 9:30 p.m., literally minutes after P/O Weldon got the call and was drawn off his post.

To put it mildly, morale was not high on the first floor of the Roundhouse as it related to these cases.

With the FBI now involved, doors previously unavailable to the PPD were being breached with ease. A search of IRS records for Edward Richmond, Joan Delacroix and Robert Freitag showed that each had been in the employ of the Delaware Valley State Hospital between the years of 1992 and 1996.

Jessica and Byrne sat at one of the desks, the crime scene photos spread out before them.

‘This all goes back to this building,’ Byrne said. ‘This G10.’

‘So there were dream experiments being conducted in G10. What kind of dream experiments?’

‘I have no idea. I’ve got a call in to Martin Léopold’s publisher. Waiting to hear back if he’ll talk to us.’

‘In the meantime, I’m going to see if there’s a copy of that book in the library.’

Before Jessica could reach one of the computer terminals, Byrne’s iPhone rang. He looked at it.

‘Wow,’ he said. ‘I’m getting a call from Estonia.’

‘From Estonia?’

Byrne looked a little sheepish. He quickly explained sending the email to the Tallinn Municipal Police Department. ‘Okay. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

‘It looks like it might have paid off.’

‘See if Mateo is free,’ Byrne said. While Jessica called the A/V Unit, Byrne answered the call, launched the FaceTime app, positioned his iPhone on one of the dividers between the desks. He tapped the appropriate icons.

Onscreen was a medium shot of a man sitting in an office chair.

Peeter Tamm looked to be in his late forties – blond hair, green eyes, a trim mustache. He wore a dark vest sweater, crisp white shirt and striped tie. The background was a pair of file cabinets and the corner of a white board. From everything Byrne could see, law enforcement in Estonia was about as glamorous as it was in the United States.

‘Hello,’ Tamm said. ‘Is that Detective Byrne?’

‘Yes,’ Byrne replied. ‘Do I call you detective?’

The man smiled. ‘Peeter will be fine.’

‘Please call me Kevin.’

‘Kevin it is. I must admit, I don’t get a lot of communication from the States. I was both surprised and pleased to get your email.’

‘Well, we could use a little help.’

Tamm nodded. ‘Perhaps you can tell me exactly what you are looking for, and I will tell you how we can help.’

Byrne gave the man very broad details on the cases, and the existence of the tape recording. Peeter Tamm listened intently.

‘I don’t imagine you run across too many cases that have an Estonian connection,’ Tamm said.

‘This is a first.’

‘It is a little different here. Shall I explain?’

Wow
, Jessica thought. A super-polite cop. Maybe she would move to Estonia.

‘Please,’ Byrne said.

‘In Estonia, the police authority prefectures were recently merged with Border Guard Board – similar in some ways to your Homeland Security – to form one authority called PBGB. The Central Police office is in Tallinn, but serious crimes such as homicides are investigated in other prefectures in other regions of the country.’

‘What about your forensic investigations?’ Byrne asked. ‘How is that handled?’

‘This is done by the Estonian Forensic Science Institute, which is administered by the Ministry of Justice. The biggest facility is here in Tallinn, but there are regional labs in Tartu, Kohtla-Järve and Pärnu.’

‘What about language translation services?’

‘Oh, yes. As you might imagine, there are a lot of languages spoken here.’

Jessica noticed that the man spoke almost unaccented English.

‘In your email you mentioned the name Eduard Kross,’ Tamm said.

‘Yes,’ Byrne said. ‘The name came up in connection with the current homicide investigation. It’s written on the label of the audio recording we have.’

‘I must confess that I had not heard that name in a while. The name Eduard Kross, while not known to younger Estonians, conjures something of the beast to those of us who are older.’

‘How so?’

Tamm took a few moments. ‘I imagine the name and legend of Eduard Kross is similar to that of Great Britain’s Jack the Ripper, although far less has been written about Kross. Almost nothing, really.’

‘He was a killer?’

‘Yes,’ Tamm said. ‘But it seems there is a lot more folklore connected to his name than documented fact.’

‘What is the folklore?’

‘Over a period of maybe thirty years or so, they say he moved through the forests and mountains of all three Baltic nations. In that time he committed a number of crimes – arson, forgery, robbery.’

‘And murder.’

‘Yes,’ Tamm said. ‘Legend has it that he murdered more than one hundred people.’

‘And he was never caught?’

‘Oh, yes. I’m not clear on when, but it was during the Soviet period. Perhaps the early nineteen eighties.’

‘What happened to him?’

‘It’s my understanding that he went to a gulag, where he died shortly thereafter. Again, this is all speculation, the stuff of campfire fable.’

‘And why did he commit all these crimes?’

‘This is even more vague. But they say his father was a respected dentist. When his father informed a high-ranking officer in the German army that he would lose all of his teeth, the officer had Kross’s mother and father and sister killed. It is said that Eduard hid and escaped.’

Byrne made a series of notes. ‘Well, this is very helpful,’ he said.

‘Not at all. Is there anything else we can do?’

Byrne explained about the tape, and how they could use a translation.

‘We would be happy to do this,’ Tamm said. ‘We have some of the best translators in the world here. Send along the file when you are ready.’

‘We’re ready now.’

Tamm gave Byrne an email address. At a nearby terminal, Mateo Fuentes sent the compressed audio file. Within seconds, Tamm looked back at the screen.

‘The file has arrived,’ Tamm said. ‘When the translation is complete, how would you like me to send it?’

‘Fax will be fine,’ Byrne said. ‘Or if you’d like to scan it and attach it to an email that would be good, too.’

‘A .pdf file would probably be best.’

‘Great,’ Byrne said. ‘By the way, have you ever been to the United States?’

‘I have. Many years ago, I took my honeymoon in Miami Beach.’

‘Miami is nice.’

‘You should come to Tallinn someday. It is a beautiful city. And there are a few advantages to working for the police here.’

‘Such as?’

‘Our police cars are made by BMW.’

Byrne looked out the window, at the parking lot behind the Roundhouse, at the line of ice-shrouded departmental sedans. Most were Ford Taurus. He looked back at the screen. ‘Are you guys hiring?’

Tamm smiled. ‘I will be in touch shortly,’ he said. ‘Be safe.’

‘Thanks,’ Byrne said. ‘You too.’

The conversation with the Estonian detective put a spring into the step of the investigation. It felt like progress. While they waited for a response, Ray Torrance showed up in the duty room.

To Jessica, Ray Torrance looked a lot better. He had shaven, and had gotten some color back, despite the bandage on his forehead. He asked about the investigation. Byrne explained about making contact with the Estonian police officer.

‘What a world,’ Torrance said. ‘I remember when we were coming up, SVU was located in that old police horse stable. Now you pick up the phone and call Estonia.’

Before the war horses could get too deeply into the old days, Jessica looked up to see Josh Bontrager crossing the duty room. Fast.

‘How did it go at Villanova?’ Bontrager asked Byrne.

‘Good,’ Byrne said. ‘She was very helpful. Thanks for contacting her.’

‘No charge.’

‘Josh, do you know Ray Torrance?’ Byrne asked.

Bontrager put his documents down on the desk. ‘Never had the honor,’ he said.

‘Josh Bontrager, Ray Torrance.’ The two men shook hands.

‘I’ve heard a lot about you,’ Bontrager said.

‘There are two sides to everything,’ Torrance said with a smile. ‘I hope I get the chance to defend myself.’

Bontrager laughed. ‘It’s really great to meet you.’

‘And you.’

‘Josh is working a bad one,’ Byrne said.

‘Funny you should mention,’ Bontrager said. He made a motion to open the binder on the desk, stopped himself. Jessica saw him steal a glance at Byrne. It was a look she knew well. Byrne gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod of his chin. It was not lost on any of the detectives in this corner of the room, including Ray Torrance. What Josh’s look meant was a question, and that question was:
Can I speak freely in front of this man
?

Byrne’s nod meant
yes
.

Josh Bontrager opened the binder on the desk.

‘We’re getting labs back on my DOA. Also, we finally got an ID. His name was Ezequiel
“Cheque” Marquez, eighteen years old, late of Ludlow.’

‘Was he banging?’ Byrne asked.

Bontrager shook his head. ‘Not officially. He was a fringe player. A couple of misdemeanor assaults, some stuff as a juvenile. Nothing felony grade.’ He opened one of the envelopes. ‘It took a while to toss that room where he was killed, but we did find these.’

Bontrager pulled a photograph out of the envelope. It was a close-up of a box of cigars, a four-pack of Dutch Masters coronas. The box was unopened.

‘So these belonged to Marquez?’ Byrne asked.

‘Yeah,’ Bontrager said. ‘His fingerprints are all over it.’

‘What about reefer?’ Jessica asked. Dutch Masters coronas, along with El Productos and White Owls, were the cigars of choice when it came to rolling blunts.

‘Didn’t find any.’ Bontrager pulled another photograph out, this one a picture of the back of the box of cigars. In the upper left-hand corner was a pricing sticker. The sticker only showed the cost of the item. ‘There are six stores within walking distance of the crime scene that sell these. We canvassed all of them, and the only one that has a sticker like this was the City Fresh Market on Oxford.’

‘So you’re thinking Marquez bought the cigars there on that day?’

‘I can do better than that. Turns out the market has had a number of robberies in the last few years. They have a really good security system, and they dump their hard drives once a month.’

Bontrager pulled a USB flash drive out of his pocket, sat down at one of the computer terminals, and slipped the drive into an open USB port. Within a few seconds there was an image on the screen. It was a high-angle shot of the checkout line at the Super Fresh. In the upper right-hand corner was a date and time code.

After a few seconds a young man enters the frame on the right. He is second in line behind a woman carrying a sleeping infant.

‘This is your victim?’ Byrne asked, tapping the screen.

‘Yeah,’ Bontrager said. ‘That’s Cheque Marquez.’

Onscreen, the woman with the infant pays for her purchases, and leaves the store. Marquez steps forward. He drops a bill on the conveyor belt, and the cashier rings up the cigars. Marquez shoves the change into his right front pocket, the cigars in his left back pocket.

The line moves up. Next in line is a teenage girl with a box of baby formula.

‘Now watch this,’ Bontrager said.

Instead of leaving the store, Marquez walks over to the Red Box machine, leans against it. He picks up one of the coupon books, leafs through it. There wasn’t one detective watching the video who thought the young man had any interest in coupons. This was a stall, a case.

The camera angle cuts to a shot from above the front doors to the market, pointing to the area where Marquez was standing. Again, it is obvious he is waiting for someone, or something.

The camera then cuts to the parking lot for about ten seconds, then back to the original angle, over the checkout line. In line now is an older woman, with a tall man in a raincoat behind her. The woman takes her time paying. It looks like she is scrutinizing the LCD monitor for discrepancies. She eventually swipes her card, signs, and takes her bags.

She steps forward. The tall man steps up.

The camera again cuts to the front door angle. Marquez is watching the woman as she puts down her bags, buttons her coat. When she picks up her bags, she drops her credit card to the floor. She doesn’t notice, just keeps on walking.

Marquez sees the card. He puts his foot on top of it.

In the instant before the woman leaves the store, she looks up at the camera.

As Jessica felt the floor pull away beneath her, Bontrager stopped the recording.

‘That’s Joan Delacroix,’ Jessica said.

‘Yes, it is,’ Bontrager replied.

‘Wait,’ Jessica said. ‘Your victim and our victim are in the same place at the same
time
?’

‘Yes,’ Bontrager said. ‘And it gets better.’

Bontrager hit
PLAY
. The recording continued. On it, Joan Delacroix continued out of the store with her bags, without turning around. A few seconds later, inside the store, Marquez bent down and picked up the credit card.

Bontrager again paused the recording.

‘Was this credit card on him when he was found?’ Byrne asked.

‘No,’ Bontrager said. ‘It was nowhere to be found at the crime scene, either.’

Jessica looked over at Byrne, then at Ray Torrance. She was hoping for a brainstorm from one of the two men. They were both seemingly mesmerized by the image on the screen.