Rise of a Phoenix: Rise of a Phoenix (12 page)

“Did you find anything on Steel?” she asked, making sure not to look down at her seated colleague.

“Well, your boy don’t exist,” Tooms replied.

“I spoke to just about everyone and information about Steel came up blank. Either he don’t want to be found or he’s off the reservation and people don’t want us knowing him.”

This time she looked down at him with a surprised look.

“Oh great, so you’re telling me he is a ghost?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make some calls, we will find out who he is. But the question is, do we
want
to find out who he is?”

She looked blankly at him.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, worried by his weird remarks.

“I mean, somebody who goes to this much trouble not to be found, I guess they just don’t want to be found.”

“Well I want to know all about our guy. So make the call.” She stood up and walked towards the coffee area: she needed caffeine—badly.

McCall poured the coffee and sat at the table and sipped the hot dark coloured brew. The powerful aroma filled her nostrils as she breathed it in, taking a long drawn out breath, that was like pure heaven to her. Suddenly Tony’s head appeared round the corner of the door. He was waving a piece of paper, and his urgency made her sit up and take notice.

“What’s up?” she inquired, watching him enter.

“I think we got something on the CCTV footage from the pier.”

She got up quickly and they both went to the monitor room.

“OK,” she said when they were settled there. “What am I looking at?”

The frame had been paused at 0200hrs.

“Just watch,” said Tony as he pressed play. The footage rolled on and at first there was nothing. Then she saw what appeared to be two homeless guys carrying a large object in a shopping cart. They also had what appeared to be some rope, and as they disappeared round the corner she noticed the counter clock had moved forward fifteen minutes, then they returned.

“Stop it there,” she told him. “Can you enhance the faces?”

Tony used the mouse to create a digital square round the men’s heads and after another click of the mouse, the image was further enhanced.

“OK, make copies,” she said. “I want that picture circulated to every shelter, church and hostel, because we have got to find these men.”

At last it looked as if they’d got a break. She just hoped that it would lead somewhere.

Once they were back in the main office Tooms’s phone burst to life, and reaching over he grabbed the receiver.

“Detective Tooms, homicide, can I help you?” It was the ME’s office, telling him that they had something.

“That was the ME’s office,” he told McCall and Tony as he hung up the phone.

“They got a hit on the last vic: she was a Miss Marie-Ann Talbot from Manhattan.”

Walking over to the board, he rubbed out the name Jane Doe and write in its place Marie-Ann Talbot.

“We got an address yet?” McCall asked, as she sat at her desk, pleased that things were starting to come together, even if it was a slow process. Tony was busy checking on his computer for any data on Marie-Ann. With a bleep her picture came up on his screen, along with other information, including her date of birth and address.

“We got her,” said Tony, giddy with excitement.

“OK,” McCall told him “I will meet you guys downstairs. I’ll phone CSU and get them down there to check the place.”

They both took off as she had the receiver in her hand ready to dial. McCall made the call, then standing up, she grabbed her coat. McCall headed for the elevator but on the way she knocked on the room allocated to Doctor Davidson, then she stuck her head round the door when he did not reply.

“Hey, Doc, we have an address on the last victim,” she said. “I wonder if you wanted to come with us?” Deep down she prayed he would say no.

“What? Oh, I’m sorry no, no, you go ahead I’m just catching up,” he said, delving through the photos.

“Sure, I’ll leave you to it then.” And with that she quietly shut the door and ran before he could change his mind.

EIGHTEEN

Samuel lay in his hospital bed. Almost every part of his body was enclosed in a plaster cast. However, even if he’d been fighting fit he wouldn’t have been able to go anywhere anyway: the two large police officers at the door would make sure he stayed put.

The man was conscious but unable to move. The TV in front of him was there merely for background noise, no one was watching it. He heard the door open, then soft footsteps tapped on the floor as somebody came into the room.

“Hey, Doc, is that you?” Samuel cried out, but got no answer.

“Who is there? Answer me!” Still there was no reply. But there was some kind of noise. What was, it he wondered, breathing faster. He strained his ears, trying to make out what the sound reminded him of. That sound, there it was again! Then, there came another noise! Was it music? Yes, it was music, from somewhere in the room. He could just make out a faint chime from a musical box or maybe a pocket watch.

“Please, who is there?” he called out plaintively. Then he felt the presence of someone in the room, and if it had not been for the sedative medication he was on, a shiver would have danced up and down his spine.

“Interesting,” said a sickly eerie voice. Samuel was unable to move his neck because of the neck brace.

“Who is there?
Show yourself you bastard!
”

“You do realize that because of you I have to reschedule my plans?” the person said to him. “And that will not do, I’m afraid.”

Samuel could feel the man’s breath in his ear, as he went on speaking ever so softly and calmly. That was the most disquieting thing: the man was deadly calm.

“Oh goodie.” The position of the voice had moved to somewhere above him. He managed to make out a brief silhouette on the ceiling: it was thin and the arms seemed too long, out of proportion to his body somehow, and then the image was gone.

“They have you on morphine,” the man said next.

“Well you don’t mind if I put up the dosage, do you?”

Samuel seemed puzzled. Why would he increase the dosage?

“What for, Doc?” the petrified Russian asked.

“So that you don’t feel any pain and pass out of course, you silly boy.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

Now Samuel was really panicking. He attempted to call out for help, but found a sock was being shoved into his mouth. What was this madman going to do? He struggled but in vain as his casts held him tightly immobile. And all the while he could hear this maddening laughter.

A blur shot from the dark as the increased dose of morphine was kicking in. His heart froze as a face came into view, but all he could make out were massive blue eyes that held the look of a madman, and large shining white teeth surrounded by a grotesque smiling mouth.

“Oh I hope you stay awake for this,” said his tormentor

“You wouldn’t want you to miss it for the world.” Then as Samuel stared up he caught a glimpse of something held in a hand, something that shone in the light reflected from the TV screen. Then, to his horror, he thought he could see a bone saw. And then the madman was gone from view.

A terrifying silence filled his ears. Could it be a joke, he wondered? Maybe it was a trick? Either way he would eventually find this man and makes him pay for what he was doing. He felt a twinge in his shoulder and then a strange dampness on his back. The musical chimes were the last thing he heard before the dark took him.

NINETEEN

The apartment belonging to Marie-Ann Talbot was quite large, with wooden floor tiles and white walls that seemed to make the rooms seem bigger than they were. The three detectives walked in and found themselves directly in the sitting area, and the view from the large windows was breathtaking. It was obvious that Marie-Ann had a well remunerated job, considering where the apartment’s expensive location and her opulent taste in furnishings. They had been let in by the caretaker, who was an elderly gentleman in his late sixties, but seemed still quite active for his age. The team split up, searching room by room, but found nothing relevant to the case. They were searching for any clue as to what sort of person the lady was and what contact she had with others, but there was nothing to help them.

“OK, people keeping things private I can understand,” said Tooms, coming out of the bedroom with a disgruntled expression. “But this ain’t right. There are no pictures of family, or of friends, there’s nothing. I mean she doesn’t even have a naughty drawer.”

McCall looked up. “So? Your point is?”

“Nah, nothing, just blowing off steam I guess, in all the victims’ apartments things seem the same. It’s more than just being super clean and having no pictures on display. If you ask me, it sure seems weird.” He went back into the bedroom to continue his search.

McCall shook her head and smiled. She felt his anguish, they all did, but she had faith something would come up: it had to.

The phone in her pocket buzzed and vibrated, and as she reached in and took it out, the blue screen lit up the words: ‘caller withheld’. She looked at it for a moment then pressed the accept button.

“Hi, it’s Steel,” stated the caller.

She took the cell phone away from her head quickly and looked at it in surprise.

“McCall, are you there?” The voice sounded confused.

“How the hell did you? Never mind, I don’t think I want to know. What’s up?” she said, adjusting to the shock of hearing from him.

“I got an address and name for vic number two.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised that he was capable of doing some actual police work.

“Don’t sound too amazed. Anyway the second victim was a Miss Susan Black and she had an apartment in Queens; I just texted you the address.”

She tried not to sound too excited about the new lead, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, , but a lead was a lead no matter where it came from. “OK, I will meet you OUTSIDE the block, you hear me!
Outside the block
. No going in by yourself.” She was blunt and to the point.

“Yes, mommy,” he said and hung up. She scowled to herself at his childishness.

TWENTY

Sam McCall drove up to the main entrance of the apartment block and parked. On exiting her car she saw Steel leaning against the white plaster of the massive tower block. He wore black jeans, a strange black shirt that had only three or four buttons and what appeared to have a clerical collar, which looked stiff against his neck apart from at the front, where there was a small gap. Over that, he had a long black three-quarter length suit jacket. It looked smart but casual, and his outfit was topped off, as always, by those dammed sunglasses.

“Detective,” he greeted her with a smile.

“Detective,” she returned the greeting but not the smile.

“Shall we?” he said, opening the door for her. McCall used the other door just out of spite, a trace of a smile on her face, smug in her small victory. He paused for a moment while a very attractive woman went through the door he’d opened for McCall. The woman thanked him and went on her way, leaving him with a smile he would never forget. McCall shot him a disapproving look, but he just raised his hands, palm sides up.

“What?” he said innocently.

As they entered the lobby they noticed a large well-built Hispanic man with short hair at the front desk. They figured that the guy’s dark suit and white shirt was part of a uniform denoting that he was part of the building’s workforce. Sure enough, as they neared the desk they noticed that the tie he wore bore the name of the tower.

“Good afternoon, can I help you?” he said, his deep voice and with a definite foreign accent, probably Columbian. McCall reached towards the badge clip on her belt and lifted the shiny piece of tin so he could see it.

“Yes, I’m Detective McCall and this is Detective Steel. I believe you have a Miss Susan Black staying here, is that correct?”

“Miss Susan, yes. A very nice lady, she always says hello whenever she sees one of us on duty. Why are you asking? Has something happened to her?” His smile was replaced by a real look of concern.

“Yes,” McCall tried to break the news gently.

“I’m sorry to say that she was murdered and we are trying to establish what she was doing in the hours before she died.”

“Whatever we can do to help, please ask,” he said, the shock of this revelation etched on his face.

“Would it be possible to take a look at her apartment?”

He nodded and called to one of the cleaning girls who was just passing.

“Melanie, can you take these people to 121 please?”

She nodded and asked them to follow her to the elevator. This lady cleaner was all of twenty years old, if that, with short dark hair and a strange light-blue outfit that had short sleeved arms and was buttoned all the way down the front.

“Did you know Miss Black at all, Melanie?” asked Steel softly, noticing her shocked behaviour at the news of the death.

“Not really. We spoke now and then, but just in passing. She was friendly like that. She was a nice person. She didn’t deserve to be murdered.”

“Nobody does,” said McCall, with a strange look in her eyes, that Steel took note of.

The girl let them inside the spacious apartment. Like the other victims, she lived alone, had no photos of family or friends, nothing that could lead them to their human contacts. McCall and Steel searched high and low for something but, just like before, they kept coming up empty. Eventually Steel walked into the living area carrying a pink book with a small padlock on its corner, apparently Susan’s diary.

“Look what I found,” he said, waving the small book.

“Not really your colour,” said McCall sarcastically.

He smiled. “It’s her diary and I guess if we want to know something about a person it could be right here...” He was right and she knew it. And boy, how she hated that.