The nameless dead

Eight

After a display of reluctance, Peter Sebastian agreed to buy the ring. I told him I’d email him the description and cost. The problem was that neither I nor Karen had any source of funds-the Justice Department had frozen our credit cards and bank accounts. Sebastian said he would look into the situation, but in the meantime would pay for the ring himself. I was impressed.

‘So what about these murders?’ I asked, as we approached the labs, our feet ringing out on the icy paving stones.

The Fed played dumb.

His assistant craned his head forward to look at me in the orange light from the lamps overhead. ‘Which murders, Mr. Wells?’

‘Those three hate crime killings,’ I said. ‘Do you need me to list the victims’ names and locations?’

‘You can’t expect us to talk about ongoing investigations,’ Bimsdale said, glancing at his boss.

‘Even when they might be connected to Heinz Rothmann?’

‘What makes you say that?’ Sebastian demanded.

‘Do you have many other suspects?’

‘As Arthur here said, we’re not going to discuss that.’ Sebastian upped his pace.

‘Touchy, isn’t he?’ I said to Bimsdale.

‘You couldn’t possibly expect me to comment.’

I got the impression that the young agent was less of a fool than he looked. I was also intrigued by his boss’s reluctance to talk about the murders. It didn’t square with his continued interest in Karen and me.

By the time we caught up, Sebastian was on his cell phone.

‘Where? All right, I’ll fly there immediately. Describe the scene.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Shit. Keep me advised and inform local law enforcement that we’re on our way.’ He ended the call and turned to Bimsdale. ‘Come on, we’re going to the airport.’

‘So soon,’ I said.

Sebastian gave me a sharp look. ‘Dr. Rivers is waiting for you. I’ll be in touch.’

‘Where has the Nazi murderer struck this time?’

‘Philadelphia, if you must know,’ he said, moving away.

‘I’ll be looking out for you on the news,’ I called after them.

I hadn’t seen Sebastian so spooked since Washington National Cathedral.

‘Ah, there you are, Mr. Wells,’ said Rivers, after a white-coated young woman opened the door of his office. ‘This is Dr. Brown.’

I looked at her and tried not to laugh. She had ice-blond hair tied into a bun, and a complexion so pale that blue veins were visible around her eyes and jawline.

‘Hello.’ I stuck out my hand. ‘I’m Matt.’

Dr. Brown stared at my paw as if vicious claws might be concealed beneath the skin. Her grip was cool and firm.

‘Matt,’ I repeated. ‘Not Wells.’

‘My first name is Alexandra.’ She gave me a thin smile. ‘You can call me Dr. Brown.’

This time I did laugh. ‘Fair enough. I’ll win you round in the end.’

Rivers stood up. It occurred to me that I had no idea what his first name was. Red? Running?

‘It’s Lester,’ he supplied, as if he’d read my thoughts. ‘I’m not fond of it. Shall we proceed?’

‘My finger is twitching on the trigger.’

‘Very droll, Mr. Wells, but inappropriate. Dr. Brown will explain what we have in store for you.’

I looked at the woman in white. She opened the silver file she was carrying and started to talk, her voice curiously breathless.

‘The Brown Disassociation Process makes use of advanced neuropharmacology, music and language, all calibrated to the individual patient, to induce a state of deep tranquility. The patient’s responses are used to establish an even more profound condition of disassociation, during which data stored in parts of the subconscious beyond all alternate forms of artificial access can be brought to the surface. Such data can subsequently be replaced-’

‘You’re going to brainwash me again,’ I said, stepping forward.

The gorilla in camouflage gear watching through the open door made a similar movement, raising a Taser.

Rivers brushed past me. ‘It’s all right, Wayne. Please.’

It wasn’t the first time I’d noticed the scientist’s distaste for weapons. It didn’t stop him using words to attack me in the glass room.

Dr. Brown stood motionless, her lips tightly pressed together.

‘Well, you are, aren’t you?’ I reiterated.

‘Certainly not, Mr. Wells.’

‘Matt.’

She looked uncomfortable for a few seconds. ‘Oh, very well. Matt. I have carefully reviewed Dr. Rivers’s records and am confident that the treatment I have mapped out for you will be both safe and effective.’

‘I see. And how many patients have benefited from this safe and effective treatment, Alexandra?’

She glanced at Rivers.

‘Dr. Brown’s process is groundbreaking,’ he said, flapping his hands. ‘It has been extensively tested on computer models-’

‘But I’m the first human being… Jesus, now I really am a guinea pig.’

The scientists looked at each other.

‘I suppose you could put it like that,’ Rivers said. ‘We really must push on, Mr. Wells.’

‘I thought I was making good progress with the trigger identification.’

‘Yes, yes. Indeed you are. But…’

‘Peter Sebastian has told you to speed things up.’

‘Certainly not,’ he said angrily. ‘I can assure you that I have given Dr. Brown’s process detailed consideration. I make the decisions here.’

‘Well, that’s a relief. I don’t suppose I can ask for a second opinion?’

‘I’ve already given one,’ Dr. Brown said, a faint smile on her lips. ‘You’re the ideal subject for this exper-process.’ The slip brought spots of red to her pallid cheeks.

Rivers stepped closer. ‘Mr. Wells, you must appreciate your position. Ms. Oaten’s access to the full resources of the medical center is conditional on your compliance with our requests.’

The bald bastard. He and Sebastian had me over a barrel.

‘All right,’ I said, after a long pause. ‘Lester.’

‘You must approach the procedure calmly and with your mind at ease,’ Dr. Brown said, handing the file to me. ‘Sign at the bottom of the first two pages, please.’

I didn’t bother to read the text. They would do what they wanted whether I played along or not. Maybe I was being too suspicious. Anything that removed the residue of the Rothmanns’ conditioning had to be a good thing.

‘Thank you. This way, please.’

I followed the blonde doctor into a different glass room, this one with a hospital bed on it. Thick leather straps dangled down from it.

I lay down reluctantly. ‘Is this going to hurt, Alexandra?’

‘You more than me,’ she replied, as the gorilla fastened the straps.

‘Great. Would you like to talk me through your process?’

She started attaching electrodes to my forehead and chest.

‘It’s very straightforward. A cocktail of drugs will be injected and then your brain will be stimulated in ways too complex for you to understand. All you need to do is relax.’

‘Right.’ I felt less than reassured. ‘Two more questions. How long is this going to take?’

‘You’ll be back in your quarters by morning. Don’t worry, Ms. Oaten has been informed.’

‘Uh-huh. Tell me, will I be the same person when you’ve finished with me?’

Alexandra Brown smiled, this time with some warmth. ‘Better, Mr. Wells. I guarantee you’ll be a better person.’

‘What if I don’t want to be better?’

She ignored that. ‘Deep breath, please, as the needle goes in. Very good.’

‘Hey, I hardly even felt…’

Major Andrew ‘Slim’ Carstens had commanded the City of Philadelphia Police Homicide Division for four years, but he had never seen anything like this. As soon as he’d been advised of the scene in the apartment north of the university, he had driven straight there. He’d been present for three hours and had decided to deal with the FBI people himself. A mobile command unit had been stationed on the street and he had taken refuge there as soon as he could. Just after 11:00 p.m., two men in dark suits were ushered into the trailer.

‘Andy,’ Peter Sebastian said, extending his hand. ‘How are you keeping?’

Carstens stood up. ‘Pretty good. Until tonight.’

Sebastian nodded. ‘I hear it’s a bad one. This is Special Agent Arthur Bimsdale. He watches my back.’

‘I’m sure you don’t need that.’ The major had met Sebastian several times over the years during high-profile cases and at law enforcement conferences. He didn’t much like him.

‘You coming with us?’ Sebastian asked, as a uniformed officer handed him a bag containing protective garments.

‘Yup. Let’s see what the CSIs have turned up in the last hour.’

‘I gather the dead man has been identified,’ the senior FBI man said, as they headed for the three-story building.

The major nodded. ‘Dr. Jack Notaro, history professor at the University of Pennsylvania down the street.’

‘What did he specialize in?’

‘Italian fascism, apparently.’

Sebastian gave him a sideways look.

‘Who found the body?’ Bimsdale asked.

‘One of his girlfriends, Alicia Finn,’ Andy Carstens replied. ‘She was also one of his post-grad students. You can’t talk to her, I’m afraid. She had to be sedated. She was meant to be on a flight to San Francisco, but she missed it and came back.’

‘One of his girlfriends?’ Sebastian said, as they took the stairs to the second floor.

Carstens looked over his shoulder. ‘The neighbors told my guys that he had plenty-most of them young and pretty.’

Bimsdale cleared his throat. ‘These days most universities have regulations preventing faculty mixing with the student body.’

‘Nicely put, son,’ the major said. ‘I’m guessing Dr. Jack didn’t pay those regulations much attention.’

White-suited technicians were working on the door and frame. They stood aside to let the trio enter the apartment.

‘Jesus,’ Sebastian said, his eyes widening.

The body of a tall and well-built man was suspended by the ankles from a hook in the ceiling. He was naked and the points of his fingers were touching the wooden floor. The entire body was covered in so much blood that it was hard to discern at first that its eye sockets were empty.

‘The medical examiner reckons he was knocked out by a heavy blow to the front of his head,’ Carstens said, shaking his head. ‘Then what you can see took place, probably postmortem.’

Bimsdale squatted down and examined the floor. ‘The blood looks like it was painted on.’

‘You’re right, son. There are marks from a three-inch brush on both body and floor.’ The major pointed to the table behind the corpse. ‘We think the victim’s throat was cut after he was strung up. The killer probably lifted him onto the table before attaching him to the hook, then bled him into the basin over there.’ He pointed to a red plastic container at the far wall.

‘Must be strong,’ Bimsdale said. ‘Unless there was more than one of them.’

‘There are footprints that don’t match the victim’s, size nine Reeboks.’

‘Meaning we have an individual with average-size feet, if it’s a male,’ Sebastian said. ‘And oversize biceps. Any other traces?’

Carstens shook his head. ‘Smudged fingerprints. Obviously wearing gloves.’

‘Witnesses?’ Bimsdale asked.

‘None so far.’

‘Let’s concentrate on the body and the scene right now, Special Agent,’ Sebastian said, looking around the living room.

‘You need to see this,’ Carstens said, going to the rear of the body. He pointed to two gaping holes, one on each side of the lower back. ‘The killer took his kidneys.’

Arthur Bimsdale craned forward.

‘He hasn’t seen that kind of mutilation before,’ Sebastian explained.

‘One of the victims of the Occult Killer in D.C. had his kidneys removed, didn’t he?’ the major said softly.

Sebastian shook his head. ‘No, his kidneys were skewered, but they were left in situ.’

‘Still, could there be a connection?’

‘Too early to say, Andy. So the killer took both eyes and kidneys?’

The major nodded.

‘Where’s the bathroom?’ Sebastian went in the direction Carstens pointed, stepping around a CSI who was examining a sheepskin rug.

Another technician, this one female, was standing in the bath and bagging hair samples.

‘Have you checked the toilet?’ the FBI man asked.

‘It’s gleaming,’ the woman replied. ‘The vic must have had a cleaner.’

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her and headed for the bedroom beyond. The main feature was a king-size bed, covered by a quilt with what looked like a Native American design. The walls and other surfaces were not marked with blood or any other obvious sign of the killer’s presence.

‘This scene is different from the others,’ Sebastian said quietly, when he rejoined his assistant in the living room.

‘No Nazi words or symbols?’ Bimsdale asked.

‘No. And no body parts in the bathroom. I wonder why.’

‘It isn’t unheard of for killers to change their M.O.’

‘Thank you, Special Agent, I’ll bear that in mind.’

Andy Carstens bit back on a smile as he came up to them. Sebastian’s tongue had always been sharp and he’d been on the wrong side of it more than once. He’d also been outsmarted, but he was damn sure that wasn’t going to happen again.

‘Have you looked behind all the paintings and posters?’ Sebastian asked.

The major nodded. ‘Nothing doing. The Nazi connection was kinda public in the Boston murder, wasn’t it?’

Sebastian nodded.

‘Maybe we’ll find something in daylight,’ Bimsdale suggested.

The older men looked at each other.

‘Obviously you’ll want anything of that sort to be kept under wraps,’ Carstens said to Sebastian.

‘Won’t you, too?’

The homicide chief nodded. ‘I’ll get extra people on the streets at first light.’

‘Make sure they cover any evidence up rather than destroy it,’ Sebastian said.

Andy Carstens didn’t like his tone, but refrained from comment. Peter Sebastian had been known to screw local law enforcement over big-time.

‘Do you want joint command?’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘We’ll stay in the background, at least for now. Special Agent Bimsdale will keep in touch with your people.’

The major was surprised, though he didn’t show it. Since when did the FBI stand back in a case like this? he asked himself. Then he thought about the potential consequences. If the killer was hard to catch, there was nothing but failure and opprobrium in store for the officer in charge of the investigation. Which meant two things. Slim Andy needed to keep a close eye on the Bureau’s head of violent crime. And it was time he did some serious delegation himself.