Eight In The Box Part 20

CHAPTER 74.

"B oston Police Crime Lab, Eunice Curran." oston Police Crime Lab, Eunice Curran."

"Eunice," Alves said, "I need some help." He was on his way to South Bay with his wigwags flas.h.i.+ng. He left the siren off so he could talk on the phone. "We just finished processing Linda Bagwell's apartment. Your guys collected some evidence. They found hairs on the bed and a stain on the sheets. They also found a condom in a sewer that may or may not be related."

"What do you need?"

"I'm hoping we can get some DNA from the stain, the condom or maybe from a hair. In the meantime, if you find that the stain is s.e.m.e.n or if you can tell anything about the killer from the hairs, let me know right away."

"I'll call you the minute I have anything. Is there a boyfriend or any guy she's been seeing who may have been at her place?"

"Her best friend at work told us she wasn't seeing anyone. Married to her work."

"Don't I know what that's like."

"That's why you're the best. I'm pulling up to the courthouse. You'll call me soon?"

"I'll give you an update in a couple of hours."

He hung up the phone and walked toward the building to meet Mooney. Alves knew they were close to solving the murders. He looked forward to getting his life back to normal. He had neglected Marcy and the kids and he wanted to make it up to them. But first he had a killer to catch.

CHAPTER 75.

Angel Alves strode into the courthouse with a sense of purpose. He walked past the security officers without saying a word and headed straight for the clerk's office. Mooney stood, with the clerk magistrate behind him, going through boxes of forms. The clerk magistrate was responsible for maintaining the court dockets. He was a well-paid, elderly man who rarely showed up for work and drove an old Lincoln Continental Mark IV. Mooney once pointed out that it was the same car Frank Cannon drove in the old private investigator television series. "He has the s...o...b..x mobile phone in there, too," Mooney insisted. The old man refused to retire. And why should he? He made as much money as a judge. He walked past the security officers without saying a word and headed straight for the clerk's office. Mooney stood, with the clerk magistrate behind him, going through boxes of forms. The clerk magistrate was responsible for maintaining the court dockets. He was a well-paid, elderly man who rarely showed up for work and drove an old Lincoln Continental Mark IV. Mooney once pointed out that it was the same car Frank Cannon drove in the old private investigator television series. "He has the s...o...b..x mobile phone in there, too," Mooney insisted. The old man refused to retire. And why should he? He made as much money as a judge.

"How's it going, Sarge?" Alves asked as he approached the two men.

"Not bad," Mooney said. He gave a look indicating that the clerk had been no help. "We confirmed that each of the vics has been here. I've got all the questionnaires except for Bagwell's. I was hoping they might still have hers from last week, but the clerk's office sent them back on Monday."

"It should be easy to figure out who had contact with her, even without the questionnaire. She was just here. Someone will remember which trial she sat on. Let's start with the court officers. They spend the most time with the jurors. Then we'll know who the players were, including the judge and the lawyers."

Mooney looked at the clerk. "Can you help with that?"

The old guy looked as if they had interrupted his nap. "We have a regular clerk and court officer who work the jury session. I'll get the two of them." He waited to see if Mooney had anything else to say. Like maybe the sergeant would offer to get them himself. When nothing was forthcoming, the clerk magistrate worked his way out of his chair and slowly shuffled down the hall.

"Do the questionnaires list what trials they sat for? Can we start pulling those dockets? I'd like to cross-reference them and find a common denominator." Alves was anxious. They were close.

"That's being taken care of," Mooney said. "We've got people pulling the dockets and the attendance sheets. I've got a few of the district detectives supervising to make sure there's no funny business."

"So each of the vics is accounted for?"

"I'm not sure," Mooney said. "Something's been bothering me. Who was that woman from Area E who turned up missing last fall?"

"Emily Knight?"

"That's it. I've been trying to remember her name."

"You think she might be tied into this?"

"It's worth looking into. If she did her jury duty here, then she might actually be our first victim. I'm going to look her up right now. Once we have all the doc.u.mentation we can start talking to some people around here. I haven't had a chance to go up to the third floor and check with the DAs."

"You want me to touch base with them?"

"Just ask the supervisor to give you their attendance records for these dates." Mooney handed Alves a sheet with each victim's name and corresponding dates of service. "Don't do anything else. I don't want to talk with anyone about specifics until we're ready. Let's see if we have a common denominator for all of these trials. Then we can interview that person together. I want to make sure we don't miss anything when we sit down with the bad guy. Make no mistake about it, Angel, today we're going to speak with him. He could be anyone in this building, including one of your friends in the DA's office. So no f.u.c.king around up there."

"I know, Sarge."

CHAPTER 76.

Richter watched from the second-floor balcony as the detectives took over the courthouse. took over the courthouse.

This was it. Richter knew they would eventually figure out that each of the victims had been jurors at South Bay. What he couldn't believe was that it took them so long. But then, he could could believe it. He'd been careful in selecting people who were nondescript in their appearance, people who wouldn't be remembered by the courthouse personnel once a little time had pa.s.sed. believe it. He'd been careful in selecting people who were nondescript in their appearance, people who wouldn't be remembered by the courthouse personnel once a little time had pa.s.sed.

Richter had always waited a few weeks after their jury service before visiting each of them, except for Linda Bagwell. But there was a reason why he had to take care of her when he did. Nick's disappearance had brought the detectives right to the courthouse, and now they were looking into the juror questionnaires. Richter needed Linda Bagwell to create a diversion for Mooney and Alves.

Richter felt a surge of adrenaline. He had spent so many nights practicing for this. Preparation was the key. That way there would be no surprises. But he needed to give them a perfect performance, otherwise it would be over. He was certain they had no evidence tying him to the murders. He just had to stay focused and deal with them the way he had handled the detectives in Arizona so many years earlier.

CHAPTER 77.

Connie spotted Alves walking toward his desk. Alves didn't seem to be his usual self. Something in the determination of his step. Something like disappointment in his face. "Connie, do you have a minute?" to be his usual self. Something in the determination of his step. Something like disappointment in his face. "Connie, do you have a minute?"

"Sure, what's up?"

"We need to talk. But not here," he said, shooting a look at Brendan, who was trying to look busy at his desk. "Let's go into the conference room." Alves wasn't asking Connie, he was telling him.

Connie followed him. Sergeant Mooney was already there, waiting for them. "Hi, Sarge, what's going on?"

"Have a seat," Mooney said. "We need to ask you some questions."

"Sure, Sarge. Anything I can do to help." Connie was trying to be pleasant, cordial, although he knew that he was about to be interrogated. "Is this about Nick?"

"Connie, do you recognize this woman?" Mooney asked as he placed a photograph on the table in front of him.

Should he not answer their questions and ask for a lawyer? No. He would look guilty. Should he just come across as being helpful and completely forthcoming? No. How many people had walked themselves straight into a conviction by doing that?

The photo in front of him was of Linda Bagwell. One of his jurors. It looked like it was from her college yearbook. Her soft, brown hair was much shorter back then. Connie took his time and studied the photo while Mooney and Alves, he knew, watched his every move, his every change of expression. Mooney had a reputation as a skilled interrogator. "She served on my jury last week," Connie said. "Why?"

"She turned up dead this morning."

"Oh s.h.i.+t," Connie said.

Mooney leaned into the table and watched him. The room was silent for a full minute.

"Sarge, you don't think I had anything to do with her death, do you? Angel, tell him."

Alves didn't say anything. This was Mooney's interrogation and Angel Alves was just an observer.

Mooney continued, "Connie, we have to treat you like any other potential suspect in an investigation. You understand that, don't you?"

"I guess so."

"Where were you last night?" Mooney asked.

"I was home," Connie said. He felt his body start to slouch back in his chair. Mooney would think that his posture was a sign that he was lying. He forced himself to sit upright. Connie wanted his body language to show that he was telling them the truth right from the beginning.

"Alone?" Mooney asked.

"Unfortunately," Connie said. "I don't have any alibi witnesses if that's what you're after. I went to the gym with Mitch and Brendan after work. Then I was home for the night." Connie wanted to answer each of their questions even if the answers might be d.a.m.ning to him. He wanted them to see that he realized where the questions were headed and that he had nothing to hide.

"What about the night Susan McCarthy was killed?" Mooney asked. "Where were you that night?"

"You know where I was. I was with the two of you at the crime scene. Just like the Hayes and Ramos scenes. I guess I was home alone each of those nights, until I got called out. I live alone. Where else am I going to be on a work night?"

There was a knock on the door. "Excuse me," one of the secretaries said, "but I have a Eunice Curran on the phone. She'd like to speak with Detective Alves. I told her you were all in a meeting, but she said it was urgent."

"Thanks," Alves said. "Could you send the call in here?"

"Sure thing," she said.

"Connie, could you step outside for a minute?" Mooney asked.

"No problem. I'll be at my desk."

"We'll only be a couple of minutes," Mooney said.

As Connie closed the door behind him he hoped that his interrogation was over.

CHAPTER 78.

"Eunice, it's Angel. I've got you on speakerphone with Sergeant Mooney. What's up?" Mooney. What's up?"

"A couple of things. For starters, there was no biological matter in the stain on Linda Bagwell's sheets. No s.e.m.e.n. No blood. No DNA. But it did contain a non-petroleum-based lubricant, the kind you find on latex condoms."

"What about the condom?" Mooney asked.

"Similar lubricant. I can't tell you they're a match with any scientific certainty, but the two lubricants are made up of a similar and distinctive chemical compound that contains a specific spermicide. I compared them to a database we use in rape cases. They're consistent with what is found on Sentinel condoms. I ran the condom through another database and the latex is also consistent with Sentinels. We went out and bought a box. On visual examination, they look the same as our condom. Same color and size."

"That's great, Eunice," Alves said.

"I found nothing on the inside of the condom, no cells or s.e.m.e.n. On the exterior there were some epithelial cells. The type found on the v.a.g.i.n.al walls and in the mouth, the ones we get when we take a buccal swab. What's significant about these cells, as opposed to the dead skin cells on the exterior of the body, is that these are living cells that have a nucleus and, therefore, DNA. I won't know if they're Bagwell's until we get the DNA results."

There was a momentary silence on the line before Eunice continued. "The other interesting thing is that there was a pubic hair inside the condom."

"What does that mean?" Alves asked.

"Our guy may have worn the condom but didn't, or couldn't, e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e."

"But if he wore the condom, wouldn't he have left cells?"

"Not necessarily. Another possibility is that he never actually wore the condom. He might have put the condom on some object and inserted it into her v.a.g.i.n.a or her mouth as part of his fantasy. I'm not a psychologist, but maybe this guy's impotent and that's why he's killing these women. Up to this point we haven't had any insight as to what he might be doing with their bodies after he kills them. This time he finally built up enough confidence to act out his fantasies in the victim's bed. But he wanted to feel as if he was really having s.e.x with her."

"Do you think he took his clothes off?" Alves asked.

"I do. The hairs we found on the bed were inconsistent with her hair. I found some pubic hairs consistent with the hair on the condom, plus a couple of head hairs and an auxiliary hair. I can't tell if it's chest, arm or leg. It's hard to distinguish exactly where it came from. I've got roots on one of the head hairs and one of the pubic hairs so I may have some DNA for a match. There's no guarantee unless I've got some flesh attached. As for the pubic hair on the condom, it may have gotten there if he placed it on his p.e.n.i.s. It may have been transferred there from his hand. I can't say for sure."

"Aside from the possibility of DNA," Mooney interrupted, "do the hairs tell us anything about this guy?"

"They do. The head hair is short, reddish in color, with Negroid characteristics."