‘Hold up. The vic was a ballplayer?’
The cop stared at Dial with a mixture of amusement and disgust. ‘That’s right, Frenchie. He was a ballplayer. You guys have baseball over there in Paris? Or are you too busy eatin’ cheese and watchin’ Jerry Lewis movies to play sports?’
Ouch! Dial wondered, Where did that come from?
The truth was, he’d been told very little about the case from Henri Toulon, only that a third victim had been found. Dial knew if he wanted to see the crime scene, he needed to take the quickest route to Boston, even if it meant not being fully briefed on the case.
Unfortunately, now he was paying for his haste.
At least until he decided to do something about it.
Dial took a step toward the cop. ‘First of all, you Beantown piece of shit, if you were half the cop that I am, you would’ve noticed that I can speak English better than you. So your theory that I’m French is as misplaced as my assumption that you’re drunk just because you’re a Boston cop. Secondly, I grew up in New England, so I know more about the Sox’s history than half the players on the team, which isn’t saying much, since most of them aren’t American. Finally, if you would’ve taken the time to read my badge, you would’ve noticed that I run the Homicide Division at Interpol, which means if someone dies on planet Earth, the odds are pretty good that I’m in charge. You got that? Now why don’t you run off like a good little batboy and tell your captain that his boss is here.’
The cop blinked a few times, then did what he was told. Five minutes later Captain Michael Cavanaugh was introducing himself with a firm handshake. ‘Sorry about our lack of hospitality. We’re spread a little thin right now. Hell, if we had known a bigwig was coming to town, I’m sure the mayor would’ve greeted you himself.’
‘I’m glad he didn’t. I’m here to find a killer, not get my ass kissed.’
Cavanaugh laughed and patted Dial on his shoulder. ‘Then you’ll fit right in with me. Just tell me what you want to know, and I’ll be happy to help.’
‘We can start with the vic’s name. I understand he’s an athlete.’
‘Yes, sir, a helluva athlete. Truth be told, we were kind of looking forward to booing the bum all weekend. I guess the good Lord decided to protect him from the abuse.’
This was protection? Holy shit! That meant the victim could only be one person. The most hated man in Boston: Orlando Pope. Stunned, Dial tried to figure out how a Yankee fit in with the others. First a priest, then a prince, now a Pope. Maybe the killers had something against the letter P? If so, the plumbers of the world should be very afraid. ‘Mind if I take a look?’
‘I don’t mind if he don’t mind.’
Dial nodded, his eyes searching for anything that seemed out of place. He dealt with copycat crimes on a regular basis, so his first order of business was figuring out if Pope was victim number three or just a copycat corpse, someone’s sick way of stealing the spotlight from the real killer.
Most investigators would’ve started with the body, but not Dial. He knew most copycats got the body right – at least until the forensic experts got involved with all their high-tech toys and found fifty things that didn’t belong. But the place they normally screwed up was in the minutiae, the small facts that were never released to the press, all the things that couldn’t be known by simply looking at a picture that had been published on the Internet.
In his world, the trivial was sometimes more important than the significant.
Dial started with the construction of the cross, making sure that the wood was similar in color and age to the African oak. Then he examined the three spikes, eyeing their length and making sure that the victim was positioned in the same way as the others.
When that checked out, he turned his attention to the body, first looking at the wounds on his back, the way his skin had been sliced open with repetitive blows of a metal-tipped whip during the scourging process, then examining his rib cage, probing his puncture wound with a gloved finger, hoping that the tip of the blade had fractured and remained imbedded in his chest.
‘Whatcha lookin’ for?’ Cavanaugh wondered. ‘The wound’s clean.’
‘Just doing my job. I tend to double-check everything.’
‘Yeah, I noticed.’
Dial smiled, then glanced at the choppers still hovering overhead. ‘Can’t you do anything about them? I need to remove the bag to see the handwriting on the sign.’
Cavanaugh stared at him like he was crazy. ‘There ain’t no sign under there. Just Pope’s ugly mug, which we’re trying to keep out of the papers.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘He’s been crucified enough in our sports pages.’
Dial ignored the joke. It was typical police humor. ‘I’ll be damned. The most famous vic yet, and they eliminate the sign. Why would they do that?’
Cavanaugh shrugged. ‘Then again, I don’t know what you’re talking about. What type of sign were you expecting? I didn’t hear anything about a sign.’
‘That’s because we’ve been keeping it quiet.’ Dial took a step toward Cavanaugh, making sure no one else was listening. ‘The first two bodies had signs that referred to the cross. “IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER” was on the first. “AND OF THE SON” was with the second. I was kind of expecting the third one tonight. Makes me wonder if this is a copycat.’
Cavanaugh nodded, like something finally started to make sense in his mind. ‘No, this isn’t a copycat. I can promise you that.’
‘Really? How can you be so sure?’
‘Because of the sign.’
Dial winced. ‘What sign? I thought you said there wasn’t a sign.’
‘Not under the bag, at least.’ Cavanaugh searched Dial’s face, trying to figure out if he was kidding. ‘I guess you haven’t made it to the outfield yet.’
‘The outfield?’ Just then it hit Dial. ‘Ah, son of a bitch. Not the Monster.’
Dial took a deep breath and shifted his gaze to the left-field wall, which was blurry to him. Several cops were still out there, and Dial finally knew why. They were taking pictures of the message, debating if they should hose the blood off the wall or rip it down as evidence.
Plus they were trying to figure out what the killer meant when he wrote, ‘AND OF THE HOLY.’
Disgusted, Cavanaugh sighed, ‘After tonight, it’s gonna be called the Red Monster.’
41
The Linate Airport was about four miles from the Università Cattolica campus. Frankie told Payne and Jones the fastest way to get there, which they hoped would be fast enough to grab Boyd, if he even appeared. Since a female had rented both vehicles, they knew there was a good chance that Boyd wouldn’t show his face. If he did, great. They’d take him down quickly before he knew what hit him. But if he didn’t, they’d follow his accomplice, hoping she led them to his hideout. Payne asked, ‘Do we know what color the car is?’
Jones shook his head. ‘The lady said it was a ’98 Fiat. And since Fiat stands for Fabbrica Italiana Automobili Torino, there’s bound to be plenty of ’em floating around Italy.’
Due to the early morning hour, they got to the rental office in less than five minutes. They parked across the street and spotted the female instantly. She was wearing a silk scarf over her dark brown hair, but the rest of her clothes were the same as they were in the surveillance photo.
This would be easier than they thought.
*
Paranoid, Maria glanced in her rearview mirror and saw nothing that concerned her. Traffic near the airport was virtually nonexistent, and the only visible light was from the iron lampposts that lined the roads of the desolate textile district. If all went well, she figured she’d be out of the city before the streets filled with the prying eyes of the Milanese workforce.
At least that was her plan.
The return trip to the abandoned warehouse was an uneventful one. As an extra precaution, she drove around the block two extra times, making sure that no one was following her. Once she was certain, she pulled her yellow Fiat down the cobblestone alley near the warehouse and parked behind a Dumpster, where she left the headlights on in order to find her way back inside.
‘Professore,’ she called as she entered the building. ‘I’m back.’
Boyd emerged from the shadows and greeted her with a warm smile. ‘Thank goodness, my dear. I’ve been worried sick. I kept having these dreadful thoughts that you were apprehended.’
She shook her head as she removed her silk scarf and replaced it with a ball cap. ‘Are you ready? We need to take advantage of the darkness while we can.’
‘Yes, by all means. Let me gather our things, and we can depart. Just give me a moment.’