Gallery of the Dead

Forty-Eight

The Dassault Falcon jet touched down on runway three at Tucson International airport exactly one hour and twenty-one minutes after leaving Los Angeles.

‘I’ve already instructed one of our teams back in Quantico to prepare an art-history search,’ Agent Fisher told Hunter and Garcia, as the private jet taxied up the runway. ‘If this killer really sees murder as an art form, if he really is using the crime scenes as his canvases, then there’s also a chance that his inspiration comes from someone else’s work. I instructed the team to search for artists who portrayed violence... decapitation themes, skinning of the body, gouging of the eyes, scalping, torture methods... anything on those lines.’

‘I hope your team won’t mind the heavy workload,’ Hunter commented. ‘Violence and torture have featured in most art periods in history. From ancient and medieval art to Renaissance, to neoclassical... all the way until now.’

‘Not to mention religious art,’ Garcia added. ‘Which depicts plenty of violence and torture.’

‘Our team is the best at what they do,’ Agent Fisher reassured everyone. ‘If this killer has based his crimes on any existing work of art, they will find it.’

As the plane engines came to a full stop, a black GMC Yukon pulled up by the aircraft. The driver, a tall African American man who looked more like an NFL superstar than an FBI agent, greeted everyone by the air-stairs.

‘Special Agent Williams?’ he asked, as the four passengers alighted.

‘Yes, that’s me.’ Williams stepped forward.

‘I’m Mike Brandon, Special Agent in Charge of the Phoenix FBI field office. We spoke on the phone.’ They shook hands. ‘Welcome to Arizona and to Tucson.’

The official FBI Headquarters was located at number 935 Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington DC, just a few blocks away from the White House and directly across the road from the US Attorney General. The FBI Academy and research center, considered by many its true headquarters, was near the town of Quantico in Stafford County, Virginia. Aside from those, the FBI had fifty-six field offices scattered around the fifty American states. Many of those offices also controlled a number of satellite cells in a few selected cities known as ‘resident agencies’. There was no FBI resident agency in Tucson and the closest field office was in Phoenix, 107 miles away.

‘I’m hoping you have some more information for us,’ Agent Williams said, as they all made their way toward the car.

‘I have some,’ Agent Brandon replied. ‘Information is still trickling in. The body was only found a few hours ago and it’s a big house. Forensics is still at the scene and they will probably be there until tomorrow, maybe longer. Too soon to tell right now. They have recovered a desktop computer and a laptop. Both password protected. Both already on their way to our IT experts in Quantico.’

‘Cellphone?’ Garcia asked.

‘No, nothing yet.’

As everyone took their seats inside the vehicle, Brandon handed each of them an FBI file.

‘The victim’s name was Timothy Davis,’ Agent Brandon began. ‘A thirty-year-old mechanical engineer for Raytheon.’

Hunter’s eyes narrowed at the name. ‘Raytheon? The weapons company?’

‘Technically they are a defense and national security company, sir,’ Agent Brandon replied. ‘But yes, they do produce weapons, among other things.’

‘The victim was a mechanical engineer working for a defense and national security company?’ Garcia asked.

‘That’s correct.’

‘Well, good luck trying to breach his computer and laptop password then.’

The files Agent Brandon had handed everyone opened with a portrait photograph of the victim.

The image made them all pause at a brand-new fact.

Until then, none of them had any idea that The Surgeon’s new victim had been an African American citizen.

Having interracial victims was a rare trend among serial killers. The ones who would go from one type of victim to the other tended to have their motives firmly grounded in sexual gratification. Their victims, regardless of race, more often than not, were either female sex workers — whom the killers could collect anonymously from the streets — or part of the LGBTQ community, whom they would usually pick up from clubs or bars. But even serial killers who selected interracial victims would usually stick to the same gender, targeting either only female subjects, or only male ones. The double crossover — from female to male and from one race to another — was extremely rare. Another fact that made The Surgeon unique.

‘Around 5:40 yesterday afternoon,’ Agent Brandon continued, ‘Lady luck came knocking.’

‘Lady luck?’ Agent Fisher questioned.

‘Tucson PD received a phone call from one of Mr. Davis’s neighbors,’ the agent clarified. ‘A Mr. Christopher Pendleton, who from his window had seen a stranger breaking into Mr. Davis’s property. Mr. Pendleton was supposed to be on vacation until the day after tomorrow, but had to return home this morning due to a work emergency.’

Quizzical stares were exchanged by everyone inside the SUV.

‘You said 5:40?’ Agent Williams asked.

Agent Brandon consulted his notes.

‘Yes, 5:42 to be exact.’

‘OK.’

‘With the call,’ Agent Brandon continued, ‘Dispatch sent a black-and-white unit to Mr. Davis’s address. After entering the property through its front door, which had been left unlocked, the two Tucson police officers at the scene heard a noise coming from the basement. They went down to investigate it and walked in on a man standing over Mr. Davis’s lifeless body. The man was arrested on the spot.’

‘Does this man have a name?’ Agent Fisher asked.

‘I’m sure he does,’ Agent Brandon replied. ‘But he hasn’t said a word since he’s been arrested, and since Tucson PD had specific orders not to question him, we don’t have anything. They’re waiting for you.’

‘He hasn’t said anything?’

‘Not a word, apparently. He hasn’t even lawyered up, yet.’

‘And he didn’t have any ID on him?’ Agent Fisher insisted. ‘Driver’s license, a credit card, social security... anything?’

‘Nope. No wallet, either. Just some cash on a money clip.’

‘Fingerprints?’

A headshake. ‘He’s not in the system. We really have nothing on this guy.’

‘And where’s he now?’

‘Tucson PD is keeping him at the Alvernon Way Police Station.’

‘So let’s go talk to this mysterious individual,’ Agent Fisher said.

Agent Brandon turned on the engine and geared the SUV into drive. ‘By the way, crime-scene photos are in the separate brown envelope at the back of the folder.’

As Hunter, Garcia, and both FBI agents retrieved the contents of the envelope, surprise covered their faces.

The first of the crime-scene photos showed Timothy Davis’s body lying flat on a hospital-style bed. Just like all three previous victims, he had been stripped naked and left lying on his back, with his arms naturally by his torso. His legs were fully extended, with his ankles side by side almost touching each other. The hospital bed seemed a little odd, but what had really surprised everyone was that the body seemed untouched. Timothy Davis hadn’t been skinned or scalped. His eyes hadn’t been ripped from his skull. His hands and feet hadn’t been severed either. At first look, there were no visible wounds, cuts, or even scratches to the body, until they flipped to the second of the crime-scene photographs — a close-up image of the inside of Timothy Davis’s left leg. There, a small puncture and bruise could be seen around the groin region. The third photo was a facial close-up. Timothy Davis’s eyes were shut, his mouth closed, but the look on his face was a peaceful one, as if death was something he’d been expecting for a while and was glad that it had finally arrived.

‘The killer didn’t take anything?’ Agent Fisher asked. ‘No body parts?’

Agent Brandon looked back at her inquisitively.

‘Never mind,’ she said with a shake of the head.

‘If you’re wondering about the hospital stretcher on the photo,’ Agent Brandon said, as he drove toward the runway exit, ‘it belonged to the victim.’

All eyes moved to the agent.

‘His wife passed away three and a half weeks ago,’ Agent Brandon explained. ‘She’d been battling pancreatic cancer for some time. As I understand it, once it was confirmed that there was nothing anyone could do anymore, she chose to end her days at home with her husband, not in a hospital. Mr. Davis had a fully functioning setup in the house, hence the hospital bed. He quit his job so he could stay by her side.’

‘Did they have any children?’ Hunter asked.

‘No, they didn’t.’

Everyone’s attention returned to the photographs in their files. The fourth and last photo was another full-body shot of Timothy Davis on the bed.

‘What’s happening with the post-mortem examination?’ Agent Williams asked.

‘Dr. Morgan,’ Agent Brandon replied, ‘the Chief Medical Examiner for Pima County, is probably working on it as we speak. I talked to him on the phone myself. He’ll give me a call as soon as he’s done.’