The Red Queen Dies Read online

  Baxter said, “What you’re saying is that if she had been here during the day yesterday, someone might have found her. As hot as it is, you have to think some grown-ups are probably coming down here, too, to get to the water.”

  McCabe said, “Yeah, I noticed some beer cans and food wrappers in the trash barrel back there.”

  “Wonder how often garbage is collected down here. Makes it harder for the forensic guys.”

  “Not too hard if she hasn’t been here long. We’re interested in the fresh stuff,” McCabe said. “But they’ll collect it all and take it back to the lab.”

  “Here they come now,” Curtis said.

  They all turned to watch as the FIU van came down the hill and drew to a stop. The medical examiner’s car was right behind the van.

  “We got a regular parade,” Baxter said. “The lou and the commander are bringing up the rear.”

  “I hope Jacoby’s in place, too.” McCabe said. “We aren’t going to have too much time before the media onslaught.”

  * * *

  With the team in place, Commander Paul Osgood and Ray Delgardo, the FIU crime-scene coordinator, discussed the search pattern that they wanted to use. When McCabe passed on Officer Curtis’s observation about the bike tracks, Delgardo went over to have a look. When he nodded, Osgood ordered the last patrol car to arrive to go back up on Delaware Avenue and start looking for kids on bikes.

  They waited while the assistant ME, who was there subbing for Dr. Singh, the chief medical examiner, had a look at the body and made the official pronouncement of death. Then they waited again until the FIU tech had entered the coordinates of the crime scene into his ORB and made a preliminary video.

  Then McCabe motioned to Baxter that they could walk up to the body.

  Halfway there, Baxter jumped back. “Geez, what’s that?”

  Trying to keep the revulsion from her own voice, McCabe said, “Nothing to worry about. Looks like what’s left of a dead snake after the insects and other animals got to it. We’ll assume for now that it died of natural causes.”

  Baxter said, “Sorry. For a moment I thought it was a piece of … that it was from our vic.”

  “You okay?”

  “Fine. Let’s get to work.”

  The women kneeling beside the vic looked up and nodded at McCabe. “Caught this one, too, huh?”

  “It’s getting to be a habit,” McCabe said.

  She introduced Baxter to Rachel Malone, the assistant ME, who was finishing up her work prior to transport of the body.

  McCabe watched Baxter look down at the dead woman. His eyes widened above the mask he had donned. He blanched and stared off into the distance. But, to McCabe’s relief, he managed to keep his breakfast down.

  The victim’s face was pale, more waxen than it had looked on the cam.

  This one wasn’t bad compared to some McCabe had seen. No battered face, no blood, no mutilation.

  The killer had unbuttoned the short-sleeved white cotton blouse but had left the plain white bra underneath in place. If this vic was like the other two, she had died almost instantaneously when a needle containing poison was plunged into her heart. The ME would be able to tell them if that had been the means of death and what had been in the syringe, whether it was phenol, like the others. He also could tell them if this victim, like the other two, had been rendered helpless with a stunner.

  McCabe hunkered down to get a better look at the body without leaning over it. There was a bruise on the victim’s right arm. Had she gotten that when she fell?

  “How do you think she got the bruise?” she asked Malone.

  “Looks like she was struck with something,” Malone said, passing her scanner over the area.

  Baxter, who had stepped away, said, “Where’s the flower? Didn’t I read in the master file that the perp left a flower beside the bodies at the other two crime scenes?”

  McCabe nodded. “Silk flowers. A red poppy at the first scene, a tiger lily at the second.”

  “But there’s no flower beside this body,” Baxter said. “Would a serial killer change his pattern?”

  “That’s a question for the profiler. But I’d say no.”

  “So maybe this isn’t one of his,” Baxter said.

  “Maybe not,” McCabe said. “It’s too soon to know.”

  “McCabe and Baxter, see you a moment.”

  They turned at the sound of the CO’s voice.

  Osgood motioned them over to where he was standing with Lieutenant Dole. Unlike some of the brass, he was careful not to trample through his detectives’ crime scenes. If the case was important enough, he showed up to coordinate, but he stayed out of the way of the work that was being done.

  Osgood wiped his handkerchief across his sun-pinked forehead. “I’m leaving you in charge here, McCabe. As soon as you and your partner get done, get back to the station. I’ll have the State Police and FBI on board by then.”

  “Yes, sir,” McCabe said.

  Osgood scowled at his lieutenant. “Jack, we need to get on this before that idiot Clarence Redfield has the story all over his thread. If we’ve got a leak, we need to shut it down. Now.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dole said.

  He flashed McCabe and Baxter a glance that said, Don’t screw this up. Then he followed in Osgood’s wake, matching his steps to those of the shorter, bulkier man.

  “Big Jack” Dole respected Osgood. They had both come up through the ranks when politics were more openly rough-and-tumble than they were now. Osgood, a cop’s cop, was in line for assistant chief, and probably chief after that.

  * * *

  The wagon took the body away at a little before noon. By then, it had been photographed and sketched and examined from every angle. At that point, they were looking at it as if it had never been human. Now it was evidence in their investigation.

  McCabe watched the medical examiner’s assistant drive away. By the time they got back to the station, the ME might have the identification. If the victim had ever had dental work done or gotten a print ID or been arrested and had her DNA entered into the data bank that New York State maintained, they would soon know for sure who she was. Know more quickly than they might have otherwise, because time was precious on this one. Not only because they might have a serial killer who had murdered a third woman but also because they needed to deal with the fallout if the third victim had been famous.

  There would be people to notify no matter who she was. People to talk to about the last days and hours of her life as they tried to figure out how she had ended up dead on a boat ramp by the Normanskill.

  * * *

  “We have confirmation that Vivian Jessup was in Albany yesterday,” the lieutenant said when he reached McCabe on her ORB. “Her publicist has been trying to contact her since around seven-thirty yesterday evening. Left a bunch of tags that Jessup didn’t return. The publicist was able to put us in contact with Jessup’s dentist. Jessup’s dental records have been sent to the ME.”

  “That should answer our first question,” McCabe said.

  “Since Jessup hasn’t been heard from in over twenty-four hours, it isn’t looking good. The commander has alerted the mayor. How’s it going there, McCabe?”

  McCabe glanced around her at the search that was under way. “Slow. You know how meticulous Delgardo is about collecting anything that could be evidence.”

  “I’m glad he’s handling this one personally. I’m going to pull a couple more detectives and get them busy helping out with the canvass.”

  “Thank you, sir. We—” McCabe began, then broke off. “How did he—Mike, we’ve got—”

  “See him.” Baxter took off at a sprint.

  “What is it?” Dole asked. “What’s going on?”

  “Clarence Redfield, Lou. You aren’t going to believe this, but he’s out in the creek in a canoe. He’s got a cam.”

  Dole cursed. “If we’re lucky, he’ll drown. Get him out of there.”

  “Baxter’s trying to talk
him in, sir. But it’s going to be tricky for anyone to swim out to him with the rocks. Water Patrol hasn’t gotten here yet with their boats for the search.”

  “Tell Baxter to wait. Water Patrol’s en route. They were tied up with a drowning in the river. And tell that son of a bitch Redfield that he’ll be under arrest as soon as he sets foot on dry land if he doesn’t paddle his canoe away from our crime scene.”

  “Yes, sir,” McCabe said. “But I’d be willing to bet he’s already called his lawyer.”

  The Water Patrol Unit arrived a few minutes later. When they went out after him, Redfield informed them that they were violating his First Amendment rights as a reporter.

  “Exactly what school of journalism did that asshole attend?” Baxter asked when they were watching a cruiser drive away with Redfield inside.

  “None,” McCabe said. “We looked it up a while ago. He has a degree in chemical engineering. He used to work for the oil companies until he came back here when his mother was ill. She died, but he stayed around and did some consulting.”

  “And somewhere along the way he became a crime beat threader?”

  “That happened when his neighbor’s dog was killed by a hit-and-run driver. His threads about now the callous APD couldn’t care less when the victim was a beloved pet went over well. After that, he was off and running.”

  “And now he’s a damn pain.”

  McCabe said, “I feel a little sorry for him. He was married, but his wife died in childbirth. The baby, too.”

  “That’s tough,” Baxter said. “But does it give him the right to make our lives miserable?”

  McCabe said, “Nope. But it was the mayor who thought he’d be defanged if he were given a press pass.”

  “Bright idea, if it had worked,” Baxter said.

  “That’s how it goes with bright ideas,” McCabe replied. She tugged at the visor of her APD baseball cap and glanced sideways through her dark glasses at the sun that had been beating down on them for the past three hours. “Speaking of bright, a few passing clouds would be welcome about now.”

  “I love this weather. The hotter the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Then you have nothing at all to worry about when you die. Either way, you’re good.”

  Baxter laughed. “What now? Do we hang around, or can we go up on Delaware and help with the canvassing?”

  “Let’s check in with Delgardo and see what else we need to cover. I’m wondering if we want more people searching along the road leading down here. The perp might have had the victim’s purse in his car and tossed it out as he was driving away.”

  Delgardo nodded when she suggested that. “Yeah, that occurred to me, too. As soon as we finish down here, we’ll work our way back up to the road.” He flashed her a grin. “Hope you’re wearing your tick repellent.”

  “I came prepared. I’ve got the latest version in my bag.”

  Delgardo told Baxter, “She has more stuff in that bag than a deranged Girl Scout.”

  “Says he who carries around an even larger bag,” McCabe said.

  “Ah, we’re two of a kind, McCabe, querida.”

  She liked Delgardo. He was happily married, and everyone knew it. That was why he was safe to flirt with—something she rarely did with cops. But FIU detectives were in a different category. The science guys of the police department.

  7

  They knew by two o’clock that afternoon that the victim was Vivian Jessup. But Wayne Jacoby had given the press the usual line. Name of victim withheld until next of kin have been contacted.

  Jessup’s publicist had supplied them with next of kin. Vivian Jessup’s daughter from the first of two marriages lived in Colorado with her husband and infant daughter.

  By 3:30, the daughter had been informed that her mother was dead. Her husband called back to say that he had booked her on an early-morning flight to Albany.

  By four o’clock, Wayne Jacoby was ready to announce the name of the victim from his mobile command post on Delaware Avenue. He was timing the announcement to give the search team time to wrap up. They needed to get to Jessup’s hotel before the press found out she was the victim and started trying to find out where she had been staying. Police officers were posted on the door of her room, but it would be better if they got to the hotel before the camera crews arrived.

  The search team made a quiet exit while the reporters were focused on the MCP vehicle, parked in the lot of a hamburger place. McCabe and Baxter followed the FIU van out onto Delaware Avenue.

  McCabe nodded to Officer Lawrence, who was still on duty

  McCabe watched the feed of Jacoby’s press conference on her ORB. Questions came at Jacoby from left and right. This was only the Capital Region press. When the story went national … McCabe thought. Maybe she should ask the lieutenant to take her off the case. Adam was not fond of the tabloid press. Her brother would not be pleased if their own family saga ended up as a juicy tidbit amid the feeding frenzy about a serial killer in Albany.

  But, damn it, this was her job. Her career.

  * * *

  Vivian Jessup had been tidy. Her clothes—two pairs of slacks, a dress, and a couple of skirts, in neutral colors and travel-friendly fabrics—hung in the closet. Her empty suitcase sat on the luggage rack beside the dresser. Underwear—sensible, if expensive, natural-fiber panties and bras—was in the top drawer of the dresser. Blouses, T-shirts, shorts, and tops in the second. Her nightgown and robe in the bottom drawer.

  Nothing that screamed, This is the room of a Tony Award–winning Broadway actress.

  McCabe closed the last drawer with her gloved hands and turned to Ray Delgado, who was coming out of the bathroom.

  “Find anything yet?”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Usual grooming products on the counter.”

  “Notice what’s missing?” she said.

  “What?” Baxter asked, turning from his observation of one of Ray’s technicians scanning the bedcover for fluids.

  “Nothing here but her clothes,” Ray said. “She was here to work. How was she doing that without an ORB? How was she staying in touch with people?”

  “So,” McCabe said. “Jessup’s ORB is probably with her missing purse. Still in the killer’s possession, pawned, or tossed somewhere.”

  “First vic,” Delgardo said. “The killer took her ORB but emptied her purse on the ground and left it beside her body. Second vic’s ORB was also missing, but her backpack was left behind.”

  “But this time,” Baxter said, “he took everything.”

  “If it’s the same guy,” McCabe said.

  “Don’t let Clarence Redfield hear you say that,” Baxter said. “Can you imagine what he’d do with two killers murdering women?”

  8

  Clarence Redfield was still being detained when McCabe and Baxter got back to the station house.

  McCabe went into Lieutenant Dole’s office. “Is Redfield going to be charged?”

  “The legal eagles are debating what we can charge him with. Technically, he didn’t cross the police line. He got a canoe and came down the creek. He shot the crime scene from there.”

  “And he’s about to be sprung,” the commander’s gravelly voice said from the doorway.

  Dole said, “We’re releasing him, sir?”

  “That’s what I said. Never mind that the son of a bitch streamed to his thread as he was filming. The ADA is trying to get a court order now to get it down.”

  “How much of the crime scene can you see?” McCabe asked.

  “Take a look.” The commander touched the wall, bringing up the Web and then Redfield’s node.

  Detectives and uniformed cops had been captured on-camera as they went about their jobs. The details of the crime scene stood out in stark detail.

  McCabe said, “I guess we should be grateful he didn’t get there before the body was taken away. That would have been tough on the family.”

  Osgood glared at the images. “I thought stationing
a cruiser up on the bridge would be sufficient to keep anyone with a cam away. We even managed to get agreement from the TV stations not to fly over in helicopters.”

  Dole said, “Nobody but that asshole Redfield would have gotten a canoe and come down the creek.”

  “Is there any concern that he’ll try to sell what he shot to the tabloids?” McCabe asked. “He’s never done that before. But when he finds out who the victim is, he might be tempted.”

  The commander scowled. “He claims he did this because the public has the right to know how the APD is conducting its investigation into murders that are being carried out by a serial killer.” He looked at McCabe. “You’ll be pleased to know that he gave your team a B plus for procedure.”

  McCabe shook her head. “Why didn’t we deserve an A?”

  “He would have preferred all the cops be ‘properly attired.’ Only the FIU detectives were in what he considered appropriate crime-scene gear. Everyone else was wearing only gloves. He also questioned the number of officers present.”

  “Too many?” McCabe said.

  “Not enough,” the commander said. “He wanted the State Police, FBI, Water Patrol, and the canine unit.”

  “Well, he got two out of four right,” McCabe said. “The Water Patrol arrived just in time to haul him out of the water. And, as you know, sir, Delgardo requested assistance from the canine unit when we were doing the search of the wooded area along the road.”

  “Did the dogs come up with anything?” the commander asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Dole was scanning Redfield’s node. “Look at this garbage. Redfield says he wanted to share his arrest with his audience so that they can see the APD in action, police suppression of information.”

  The commander said, “One member of his audience has rushed to his rescue.”

  “His attorney?” McCabe said.

  “And a second attorney who’s joining his legal team. Wendell Graves.”