Eight in the Box (21 page)

CHAPTER 65

C
onnie and Alves made their way up the stairs of the old triple-decker,
each step creaking as they moved. It was the last week of May, six months since Michelle Hayes had been murdered.

“You look like shit,” Alves said.

“It’s three o’clock in the morning. What do you expect?”

“I expect you to wake up before coming to a crime scene.” Alves laughed.

“What’s her name?” Connie changed the subject.

“
His
name was Edwin Ramos,” Alves said as the two men entered the third-floor apartment.

Connie stopped walking and grabbed Alves’s arm. “It’s a guy?”

“Yes.”

“What the…Are you sure it’s the same killer?”

“The MO is there, everything’s identical, right down to the nine-one-one call. Public still doesn’t know about the calls.”

“Now he’s killing men? What does that mean?”

“We don’t know. He fucked with our heads when he killed Robyn Stokes, because she was the first vic that wasn’t white. Then he goes and kills Jill Twomey, another white woman. Now he kills a Puerto Rican dude. He’s all over the place.”

“What does Sarge think?”

“He’s frustrated and angry. So am I. We can’t figure out any pattern, not as to when he strikes or who he’s going to pick as his next victim. Nothing. We were hoping the warnings we put out for people to be careful riding the T, to watch for strangers following them home, would slow this guy down. Now he goes and kills a guy. Men aren’t as likely to be worried about being followed. That could be how this guy ended up dead.”

“Ramos live alone?” Connie asked.

Alves nodded.

“Who else lives in the building?”

“Nobody. He owns the house. Bought it a few months ago. Fixing it up. I guess his plan was to fix up all three units, live in one of them and rent out the other two. He finished this apartment and was living here while he worked on the other ones.” Alves scanned the apartment. “Judging the quality of the work, I’d say he was quite a handyman.”

“Poor bastard,” Connie said.

“Hey! Don’t touch that.” Alves’s attention was on a young lab tech who was about to pick a couch cushion off the floor and put it back on the couch. “Don’t move a fucking thing until ID gets pictures of the whole room. I want them taking full panoramic shots so we have a virtual crime scene.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alves joined Connie as he walked down the hall toward Mooney, who was kneeling outside the bedroom. On Mooney’s right ankle Connie spotted a holster holding a small revolver, probably a .22 or .25 caliber. Mooney was so old school, if the department would allow it, he’d probably be carrying a big revolver on his waist instead of the standard-issue 9mm Glock. “Hey, Sarge, how’s it going?” Connie called out.

“I’ve been better,” Mooney said. “Don’t go fucking with my crime scene like that last DA.”

“Sorry about that. You won’t see Richard Wahl again. He got booted off Response.”

“Joe Cool got shit-canned?” Alves laughed.

“You’re going to get shit-canned too if you don’t do some fucking work.”

“I guess that’s my cue,” Alves said, walking back toward the front of the apartment. “He’s very subtle.”

“I’ve noticed that about him.”

Mooney went back to supervising the collection of evidence in Ramos’s bedroom. He also had two techs from the Identification Unit dusting for latent prints on every surface in the house. Smaller items like a lamp and a watch had been collected and bagged. Mooney even had them remove some of the doors to be fumed for prints back at headquarters.

“Sarge, can I check out the bathroom?” Connie asked.

“From the hallway,” Mooney barked, “but don’t go in any of the rooms, don’t touch anything and don’t get in my way.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” Connie crept down the hall. He could see the tub just as he got to the threshold of the bathroom.

The tub reminded him of a scene from an old horror movie, where some sexy, naked woman pops up out of the blood and scares the hell out of the viewer. But this was no movie. The deep red created a stunning contrast to the white enamel of the old cast-iron claw-footed tub. Connie could smell the blood in the air, salty and metallic.

He felt invigorated being back at a crime scene with Mooney and Alves.

There were several white bath towels on the floor next to the tub with a bloody imprint of a human body. More blood-soaked towels were tossed in the corner. Just like the other crime scenes. Connie was fascinated by the image and the story it told. He wondered if the police would ever figure out what it all meant.

CHAPTER 66

R
ichter smiled at the juror. Linda Bagwell wasn’t the most attractive
woman he’d ever seen. Her longish brown hair was pulled back in a bun. She was wearing no makeup. She had small breasts and wore a blouse that was too tight. Her skirt made her look bottom heavy, like a pear.

Yet Richter knew she’d do just fine. He had seen her confidential juror questionnaire, making a mental note of her personal information. She lived downtown. At the age of thirty-three she was still single with no children. She had her MBA and JD and was working at a boutique consulting firm downtown. She must have been very bright if they’d hired her despite her physical shortcomings. Although she was obviously successful, he could tell she had never really enjoyed herself. He could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t happy with her life.

Richter pictured her as one of the nameless, faceless sheep he saw every day on their way to work. They were herded into their high-rise buildings for the day, then set free long enough to eat and sleep before being herded back in the following morning. The juror was a well-paid sheep, nothing more, nothing less.

Richter would change all of that. He got that warm feeling inside that most people get when they give toys to a charity at Christmastime or give a dollar to a homeless person.

Richter was going to give the juror a much greater gift. He sent her another little smile as she sat in the jury box. This time she actually smiled back.

She was perfect.

CHAPTER 67

R
ichter gazed out the window at the Back Bay skyline. The setting
sun reflecting off the John Hancock and Prudential towers in the distance created a postcard image of the city.

Friday night. Only a few people were still in the office. The weekend weather was supposed to be warm, so most of the others had left early. Richter watched Nick in his cubicle, muddling through paperwork.

In the half-lit, silent office, nagging thoughts of his last trial edged out all other concerns. His jury had deliberated a little too long. The women, he knew, had been enthralled. But the men he wasn’t so sure about. This potential weakness grew in his mind until all he could think about was how to establish that bond of trust with every juror.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick interrupted his thoughts. The city outside the windows was blanketed in darkness now, the streetlights were on.

“Yeah?” Richter looked up, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s getting late. You want to get a bite? We can grab some Chinese from the Golden Temple.”

“Best egg rolls in America.” Maybe there was a simple solution to his dilemma. “We can eat at my house. Have a couple of beers. Watch the Sox.”

“I could use a couple of cold ones,” Nick said. “Long week.”

“I can call in the order from the car.” Richter put on his suit jacket. “Let’s do it.”

CHAPTER 68

O
n Monday morning, Andi was checking her e-mails when Monica
came into her cubicle.

“Nick’s not here yet,” she said. “He’s never this late without calling.”

“So you’re starting to fall for your stalker?” Andi teased her.

“I’m serious. He’s usually in early. No one’s seen him. His cell phone’s going right to voice mail.”

“Maybe he had a late start and got caught in traffic. Probably forgot to turn his phone on.” Andi could see that Monica wanted to believe her. “I wouldn’t worry. He’ll show up.”

Monica turned and stared out the window for a moment. Andi could tell there was something else.

“He didn’t call me,” Monica said.

“I know.”

“That’s not what I mean. He’s been calling me on the weekends. He’ll find some excuse to call, usually something stupid about work, then we talk for hours. He didn’t call this weekend. I was a little worried, but then I figured he was trying something new to get me to like him, see if I missed him. Something’s wrong.”

“Did you guys have a fight last week?”

“No. When we said good night on Friday, I knew he’d be calling me. Andi, I’m going to call the police.”

“Let’s talk to Liz first.” Andi led Monica into Liz’s office. Connie, Mitch and Brendan were already there, trying to figure out who would cover Nick’s cases until he got in. Andi was glad Connie was there. He’d know what to do.

“He wouldn’t miss work like this,” Monica said. “His job is everything to him.”

“Maybe there was a little too much partying over the weekend,” Connie said. Andi shot him a look, so he offered, “Maybe he hooked up with some buddies from law school. I’m sure he’s fine.”

“Monica, have you called around to the local hospitals to see if he got into an accident?” Mitch asked.

“Good idea,” Liz said. “Andi can help you.”

“Liz, I’ll cover for Monica and Nick in the sessions.” Brendan was already putting on his suit jacket.

By lunchtime, Liz had called Nick’s parents in Roslindale. They hadn’t heard from him either.

Connie pulled Liz and Andi aside. “I’m going to shoot over to Nick’s condo. I’ll take Mitch with me. I can have Alves meet us over there. If there’s any problem,” he whispered, “we’ll have the police with us. I’ll call as soon as I find out anything.”

Even though Andi offered to get her some lunch, Monica said she wasn’t hungry. The two of them had called all the local hospitals, asking about accident victims.

“What about the hospital the cops call the Stairway to Heaven?” Andi asked.

“Called it,” Monica said. “Nothing.”

The two women sat in silence. Monica seemed worn out. She hadn’t bothered to put on her lipstick and her hair was uncombed.

Liz pulled up a chair and joined them, her face showing signs of strain. She studied Monica for a moment. “Connie called in from the condo. There’s no sign of Nick. Let’s notify the DA and file a report.”

CHAPTER 69

C
onnie knew the two detectives from the Homicide Unit who showed
up on Tuesday morning. The somber mood in the courthouse was heightened by their presence. Although no one wanted to think the worst, Nick’s disappearance was being investigated like a homicide.

The detectives were a couple of old-timers named Taylor and Campbell who’d been assigned to Homicide for years and were biding time until their retirements. Connie had met them at several homicide scenes.

“What’s up, guys? Anything new on Nick?” Connie asked as the two men walked past the secretaries toward Liz’s office.

“Nothing,” Taylor said. He looked worn down. “We need to talk with everyone in the building to see if they saw anything out of the ordinary last week.”

“Connie,” Campbell said, “when was the last time you saw Nick?”

“Friday night. We were both working late. Us and Mitch Beaulieu.”

“Mitch Beaulieu?” Campbell asked.

“Another prosecutor. He’s at his desk right around the corner if you want to talk with him.”

“How late were you here?”

“I left around six thirty. Nick was still here. I’m not sure if Mitch was here.”

“Did you leave alone?” Campbell asked.

“Yes.”

“Where was Nick?”

“At his desk. Everyone else had gone home. The three of us were joking around about how we were big losers, working late on a Friday night. I told him I’d had enough, I was going home. He said he was going to stay a little longer, so he wouldn’t have to come in on the weekend. We said good night. That was the last time I saw him.”

“Did he say what he was doing over the weekend?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Where was Mitch?”

“That’s what I’m not sure about. He was working in the conference room, but kept coming back to his desk for stuff. I went to the bathroom before I took off. He wasn’t at his desk, but I just assumed he was still in the conference room.”

“I’ll check with him,” Campbell said.

“Did you see anyone hanging around outside when you left the building?” Taylor asked.

“It was deserted out there. This whole thing is pretty upsetting.” Connie shook his head. “Could I have been the last person to see him?”

“You or Mitch,” Taylor said.

“Do you guys think he’s all right?” Connie asked.

“I don’t know,” Taylor said. “Nobody’s seen him in more than three days. It doesn’t look like he made it home Friday night. And it doesn’t look like he’s gone on a trip either. According to his parents, all of his luggage and travel bags were in his closet.”

“And he didn’t mention going away,” Connie said.

“Let us know if you think of anything else,” Campbell said. “I’m going to go talk with Mitch. You said he’s around the corner here?”

Connie nodded.

“I’m going down to the clerk’s office. I’ll meet you back up here,” Taylor said. He stopped and turned back to Connie. “How’s everyone doing with this whole thing?”

“We’re all a little shaken. Everyone’s speculating as to whether this has anything to do with one of the cases Nick was prosecuting. It’s a little unnerving to think that something may have happened to him because of the job. A few of the women are in the conference room, basically holding a vigil for him. The judges are giving us continuances on everything until we clear this up. The DA is sending a few victim advocates from downtown to make sure everyone’s all right.”

“You guys need to support one another right now. You shouldn’t be thinking the worst,” Taylor said. “At this point we don’t even know that anything’s happened to Nick. We always have missing persons who turn up after a few days. Sometimes the stress gets to people and they skip town for a while.”

“I know how that feels. I’ve been so busy between court, prepping my cases, working at home all hours of the night. Throw in the Response pager and there are times I think I’m going to snap. That’s when I stop and take some deep Yoga breaths to clear my head. But if that’s what happened to Nick, why would he take off without any of his belongings?” Connie asked.

“That’s the point. They want to get away from everything. That includes buying new clothes when they get where they’re going. You said that the two of you were here late on a Friday night?”

“Yeah.”

“There you have it. Who knows how late he worked after you left? Maybe it just got to him. Happens all the time. I know what you guys are worried about, but we have no reason to believe anything happened to Nick because of his work as a prosecutor. We called Liz Moore earlier, and she’s pulling all the cases he’s been handling so we can look at them. But we’re just doing it as a precaution. We’re also going to be increasing patrols in the area, so people should feel safe coming to and from the courthouse. We’ll even give personal escorts.”

“Thanks,” Connie said as Detective Taylor moved down the hall. Connie knew Taylor would learn nothing from anyone in the clerk’s office. That place was a ghost town by the time he left on Friday night.