Пётр Левин – Blood Wolf’s Path (страница 9)
“How do you know?” Herner asked.
“Look at how the stockings were torn. Definitely with the left hand.”
Here’s what I had so far: jack shit. Every night I had to get into the “cage.” I didn’t know what happened after I transformed. My Black partner wanted to kill me. America faced a werewolf epidemic only I could stop. And now this Boston Strangler wannabe was on my plate. This bastard picked victims at random – which meant catching him would be tough. I’d need luck.
“Let’s work,” I said. “Autopsy as soon as possible.”
Half an hour later, Cherry reported that Quark had called back. They’d pulled footage from surrounding streets and nearby gas stations. His team flagged several suspicious cars – their owners would be questioned soon.
The meat wagon arrived. Two guys, with Herner’s approval, rolled the victim over.
One unzipped a black body bag, then they lifted her in.
“One sec,” Herner called. “Stop – photographer!”
“What is it?” I asked – but I already saw it on the couch.
The woman had been lying on a blanket. When they moved her, the blanket slid off, revealing red letters scrawled across the upholstery:
DH + HS = DH by 01.01
“Not a word. I’ll take a sample,” Herner said.
Looks like he didn’t get the riddle. Neither did Cherry, judging by her dumb face. She had an excuse – but Herner? He’d been friends with my partner.
“Looks like we’re staying here. Search the place top to bottom. This isn’t just any murder – we’re hunting a very specific killer. I want everything on both the first and second victims. There will be more – that’s certain. Check the laptop?” I asked.
I walked over to the laptop on the coffee table and tapped the space bar.
The desktop wallpaper was a pair of shapely legs in white stockings. A Word doc was minimized – I opened it. Four lines stared back:
Two hours later, I left Cherry and got into my pickup. This killer clearly wanted
I asked the operator to connect me to Cocksucker. Ten seconds later, he was on the line.
“Hello, Jerry Harrison,” Cocksucker greeted me.
“Hey, Cocksucker. Swear to me this isn’t one of the Bureau’s sick jokes. I’m at a crime scene – second woman dead, brutally murdered. And it looks like the killer knows me and is playing games,” I said.
“No, we don’t do that kind of thing. And remember – the first murder happened before you and I even met,” Cocksucker replied.
“That doesn’t mean much. Anyway… you probably don’t know, but in the mid-20th century Boston had a serial killer – the Boston Strangler. Same M.O. as our new friend. As far as I remember, they caught him. This can’t be coincidence. We need to find the bastard.”
“You think the Boston Strangler’s back?”
“Some nut read too much internet before bed. I’ll find him. I’m going to the archives to take a fresh look at the original Strangler case. I want you to check your channels – maybe the FBI has more than what’s in the files,” I said.
“Fine, I’ll look. But Jerry… I’ll say this up front: we don’t have time for this crap. We’ve got bigger problems. By the way, Fred Johnson – that Crooked-Dick – still hasn’t made a move on you? And what about Cherry?”
“It’s been three days. Relax. I’m on it,” I said crisply. I didn’t like his pushy tone.
“This country’s in the middle of a werewolf epidemic, son. I can’t wait forever. My boss has me by the balls and soon he’ll start pulling. You’re only free and alive because I vouched for you. Don’t let me down,” Cocksucker pressed.
“I get it. But we agreed I’d wait for Fred Johnson’s people to make the first move. Let’s stick to that plan. If it fails, we go on the offensive,” I suggested.
“Fine. You’ve got four more days. Don’t screw this up,” he said, then hung up.
I already knew about the Boston Strangler. We’d studied the case at the police academy. In short: in 1962, 1963, and 1964, thirteen women aged 19 to 85 were killed. The murders were linked into one series.
The killer raped victims with foreign objects, then strangled them – often with nylon stockings. The culprit was Albert DeSalvo. After the series, he spared one woman – only raping her. She described him to police, leading to his arrest. DeSalvo had posed as a detective to gain entry, then assaulted her. His conviction rested on his own confession. Nine years later, he was stabbed to death in prison. In 2013, DNA tied him to one of the murders. Case closed.
Today was the second murder. When I pulled the old dates, I froze – they matched exactly: June 14 and June 28.
The first victim of the old Strangler was Anna Schlepers. The first of the new – Anna Stern. Same name. Both killed on June 14, both strangled with a bathrobe belt.
The second victim of the old Strangler – Mary Mullen. The new – Linda Brown. Killed June 28. Different names – good. Maybe the first-name match was coincidence.
Both of the new victims wore stockings – likely brought and put on by the killer. And the “left-handed” clue might be a ruse – he could be right-handed. The planted underwear? A distraction.
Then there was the formula: DH + HS = DH by 01.01. Interesting.
And the poem:
Also – the power outage at midnight near the second murder. Could be a lead.
Alright, Boston Strangler – you picked the wrong guy to play hide-and-seek with. I’ll crack you before I crack Crooked-Dick’s brother’s case – the one who turned into a wolf twelve years ago.
The next two murders in the old series happened on June 30. Two women, different districts, raped with foreign objects and strangled with stockings.
That gave me two days to prepare.
Chapter 6. A Difficult Decision
After reviewing the case, I gathered Cherry, Quark Doug, and Herner.
“Well, guys, this killer is exactly copying the murders of the Boston Strangler, who terrorized the city back in 1962. But this new Strangler miscalculated – this isn’t the 20th century anymore. We’ll catch this bastard and punish him! According to the old case, the next murder will happen in two days – June 30. Today, I remind you, is the 28th. And this time it will be a double murder. Two women will be strangled with nylon stockings. Those stockings are bothering me. I feel like this bastard brings them with him, just like the robe for the first victim. I don’t think he’s counting on the luck that all this clothing would be in the victims’ homes.”
“So what are you suggesting, Jerry?” Herner asked.
“We need to find out exactly what kind of stockings and robe these are. Probably the Strangler bought an entire batch at once in some Boston store. We need to find out where these items are sold… Maybe we’ll get a lead. You and Cherry will handle that. Quark Doug will take on the surveillance footage.”
Quark nodded.
“That’s it, you’re all dismissed,” I said.
Cherry and Quark left, but Herner stayed.
“And what are you going to do, Jerry?” Herner asked.
“I’ll keep analyzing. This killer started a game with me, which means it’s someone who knows me well. A lot of people know me – but not the whole damn city of Boston!” I exclaimed.
“Do you think it’s Fred Johnson?” Herner asked. “And why do you think these murders are being committed just to piss you off?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s Crooked-Dick. This is too subtle a game for him. As for the maniac – there were initials written on that couch: mine and those of my murdered partner – D.H. and H.S.”
“Does the chief know about this? Technically, you should be pulled off the case,” Herner said in a perfunctory tone.
“He doesn’t know. And he’s not going to. We’ll solve this before he finds out. Or do you want the case handed back to Fox? He’ll screw it up for sure!” I put an end to our sluggish argument.
“All right. We’ll do it,” Herner sighed.
I got home right at sunset. The operator kept urging me to hurry and suggested detours around the evening traffic. At one point, I noticed a silver van with Washington plates following me. Probably that same armored vehicle in case I didn’t make it home before sunset.