44
When Porter arrived in the war room, Nash, Clair, and Watson were standing around one of the desks, staring at a laptop screen. Nash looked up and beckoned him over. “Get any sleep?”
“Couldn’t. You?”
He knew by their red, puffy eyes that none of them had. Porter dropped his coat at his own desk and walked over. “We get something?”
“Oh, we got something. We got a few somethings. Eisley’s girlfriend came through, for starters. Check this out.” He turned the laptop so it was facing Porter.
“Is that a head from Madam Tussauds wax museum?”
Watson pointed at the image. “She boiled the skull, then applied spacers to simulate muscle and tissue depth—twenty-one specific places—then used clay to fill in the mass. I’ve heard of forensic anthropologists reconstructing facial renders like this, but I’ve never seen it. It’s quite impressive. To do it so quickly . . . Eisley said she didn’t even start until last night.”
Porter frowned. “Wait, this is 4MK?”
Watson went on, oblivious. “She already had his hair. That wasn’t damaged nearly as bad as the face. Even his dental held up, so she had that too. Eye color was already known . . . I can’t imagine this is far off. I checked out her website, and she usually works with Native American skulls found at archeological dig sites—many more unknowns with those, a lot of guesswork. With this, she may be dead-on.”
“I think Watson has a hard-on for Eisley’s girlfriend,” Nash said.
Watson shot him a sideways glance. “I’m merely pointing out I believe this is an accurate representation of the Monkey Killer, one she created in record time, that’s all. The artistry and skill are amazing. You couldn’t get this kind of detail with a computer rendering. This kind of accuracy takes a special hand.”
“It skeeves me the fuck out,” Nash replied. “Looks like it’s watching you. Like one of those paintings where the eyes follow you around the room. Creepy.”
“Clair, I want you to get some pictures of this and hit all the cancer treatment centers we talked about yesterday. Between the drugs and this image, we may be able to ID him,” Porter said.
“Oh, we got more, big guy,” Clair told him. “While you slept in until all hours, the rest of us have been working.”
Porter glanced at his watch. “It’s not even seven.”
“You damn near wasted half the day.”
He rolled his eyes. “What else did you find?”
“Our vic from the Mulifax Building? He was Gunther Herbert, CFO for Talbot Enterprises, which includes the Talbot Estates Development, the Moorings, and about a dozen other ventures. His wife reported him missing five days ago. Left for work and never arrived. Eisley identified him about an hour ago. He also put time of death around five days too, so he was most likely snatched on his way to the office.”
“Did you tell the captain yet?”
“There’s more, Sam,” Nash said. “Tell him, Clair-bear.”
Clair beamed. “The shoes dead guy number one was wearing when he kissed the bus? The prints Nash lifted came back from the lab with a match.”
“Who?”
Nash drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. “Arthur Talbot.”
“Did you call me Clair-bear?”
Porter silenced Nash before he could respond. “The shoes belong to Talbot?”
“He seems like the kind of guy to buy fifteen-hundred-dollar shoes, right?”
“Why would 4MK be wearing Talbot’s shoes?”
“Same reason he took Talbot’s daughter. The man did something bad, and 4MK wants us to know. This is his last hurrah, his swan song. He doesn’t want us to drop the ball, so he’s lining everything up nice and neat for us,” Nash said. “Somehow he snagged Talbot’s shoes, stuffed some newspaper in them so they’d fit on his wee little feet, and put them on before stepping out into traffic.”
“Clair, try and get Hosman on the phone. Find out where he is on the financials. We need to speed this up,” Porter instructed.
Clair grabbed her cell phone off the desk and walked toward the corner of the room, dialing.
Porter turned to Watson. “Anything on the watch?”
Watson shook his head. “I showed my uncle a photo, but he said he needs to see the real thing to provide any real help. I tried to sign the watch out of evidence, but I was told they would only release it to you or Nash.”
Porter rolled his eyes. He really didn’t need department policy slowing him down right now. “When we’re done here, I’ll walk up there with you.”
“One other thing,” Nash said. “The feds want in on this case; the local field office has been calling all night. Emory is over twelve, and there’s no proof of interstate transport, so it’s our call.”
“Let’s see where Hosman is. They may be able to help with Talbot’s books. Anything else on the Moorings or Mulifax after I talked to you?”
Nash shook his head. “They walked every house, found evidence of a couple squatters but nothing else. If 4MK had her there, she’s gone now. They’re still combing the tunnels, but those things go on for miles, all over the city. We’re not going to find her down there by wandering around in the dark. We need a bread crumb. Aside from the body, Mulifax was a bust.”
“4MK led us there. There’s a reason. It’s probably—”
“In the financials, I got it,” Nash interrupted. “Feds, Hosman, financials—I’m all over it.”
“Porter? Can I speak to you for a second?” Captain Henry Dalton was standing in the doorway. Nobody had seen him come in. His thinning hair was slicked back, still damp from a shower, his suit clean and pressed.
Porter gave Nash and Watson a quick glance. “Excuse me.”
The captain put a hand on his shoulder and steered him out into the hallway. He glanced in both directions, then spoke quietly after confirming that they were alone. “Listen, the guys down at the Fifty-First picked up a kid last night on an attempted burglary. He tried to hold up a 7-Eleven on the East Side with a .38. An off-duty uniform happened to be in the store and got the better of him, took him down without a single shot fired. They processed the gun, and it’s a match to the one from, well . . . the gun from Heather.”
Porter’s stomach twisted into an ache so powerful he thought he might double over. He drew in a deep breath and tried to fight it back. He felt the weight of his own gun under his shoulder, the gun he wasn’t supposed to be carrying right now. Technically, he was still on leave. They wouldn’t allow him a gun until he completed an evaluation and the shrink signed off, until they thought he was ready. If the 4MK case hadn’t broken, he’d still be home, waiting for news, any news, something to help carry him through the day. But the case had broken and they’d called him in. He had welcomed the distraction, anything was better than all the waiting, all the waiting and the solitude.
He slipped his hand into his pocket and wrapped his fingers around his cell phone. He wanted to call her. He wanted to hear her voice.
You’ve reached the phone of Heather Porter. Since this is voice mail, I most likely saw your name on caller ID and decided I most certainly did not wish to . . .
“I need to go down there,” Porter said. His voice sounded like a little boy’s. The voice he’d had when he was a child, the voice he’d had when there was no bad, only life and good things ahead.
“I know,” said Captain Dalton. “I already told them to expect you.”
A tear welled up in Porter’s eye, and he quickly snatched it away before shoving his shaky hand back into his pocket.
Dalton had noticed and offered a concerned smile. “Maybe someone should drive you.”
Porter opened his mouth to argue with him, then thought better of it. He didn’t want to pull Nash or Clair off the case, not now.
“I’ll get Watson to take me over.”
Captain Dalton glanced into the room and nodded. “They got him dead to rights on the attempted burglary last night, but nobody’s told the perp they matched the gun. I explained your situation, and they agreed to hold off until you got there to observe. I promised that is all you’re going to do: observe. Stay on the right side of the one-way and let them do their job. They’ll get a confession out of this kid.”
“Yes, sir.”
Dalton put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’re going through this, I truly am.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Dalton pulled in a breath, nodded, and started for the door of the war room. “Nash! Where the fuck is your latest report? I got a dozen reporters camped outside my office. I gotta feed those dogs some scraps.”
Nash shrugged his shoulders. “You told us to go home and rest—no time for paperwork. You’re welcome to sit in while we hand out assignments.”
Dalton paused at the door and turned back. “Oh, and Porter?”
“Yeah?”
“Leave your spare piece in the car. I don’t want a record of you carrying right now. They’d try and log it at the lineup.”
Porter nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Clair hung up and walked over. “Hosman may be on to something; he wants us upstairs.”
“Go with Nash; I need to take care of something down at the Fifty-First. I’m commandeering Watson too.”
“You’re going to leave me alone with that Neanderthal?”
Porter’s eyes watered up. He turned away. Clair glanced back at the captain. “Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay. Just . . . just call me if you need anything.”
Porter forced a smile and nodded. “Thanks, Clair-bear.”
She punched him in the arm. “Don’t you start too. Assholes, the both of you.”
Porter winked at her and stuck his head back in the war room. “Watson? Let’s go see about that watch.”
1. Calli Tremell, 20, March 15, 2009
2. Elle Borton, 23, April 2, 2010
3. Missy Lumax, 18, June 24, 2011
4. Susan Devoro, 26, May 3, 2012
5. Barbara McInley, 17, April 18, 2013 (only blonde)
6. Allison Crammer, 19, November 9, 2013
7. Jodi Blumington, 22, May 13, 2014
Emory Connors, 15, November 3, 2014
Left for a jog, 6:03 p.m. yesterday
TYLER MATHERS
Emory’s boyfriend
ARTHUR TALBOT
Finances?
Body found in Mulifax Publications Building (owned by Talbot) identified as Gunther Herbert, CFO Talbot Enterprises
Something fishy with the Moorings Development (owned by Talbot)
N. BURROW
Housekeeper? Nanny?—A little of both Tutor
ITEMS FOUND ON 4MK
Expensive shoes—John Lobb/$1500 pair—size 11/UNSUB wears size 9—have Talbot’s prints on them
Cheap suit
Fedora
.75 in change (two quarters, two dimes, and a nickel)
Pocket watch
Dry cleaner receipt (ticket 54873)—Kloz is narrowing down stores
Dying of stomach cancer—meds: octreotide, trastuzumab, oxycodone, lorazepam
Tattoo, right inner wrist, fresh—figure eight, infinity?
Calc book—left by 4MK—leads to—
MULIFAX PUBLICATIONS WAREHOUSE
Partial print found on railcar at tunnel mouth. Probably used to transport the body.
Ear, eyes, and tongue left in boxes (Gunther Herbert)—brochure on body AND boxes lead to—
THE MOORINGS LAKESIDE DEVELOPMENT
Extensive search — nothing found
Video footage—Appears 4MK committed suicide, no clear visual on face
Background on Emory’s mother
Facial reconstruction—Done
Nash and Clair going to see Hosman
Clair—Organize canvass of cancer centers with image of UNSUB
Kloz, research dry cleaner’s ticket
Watson, visit uncle regarding the watch with Porter