‘There are footprints that don’t match the victim’s, size nine Reeboks.’
‘Meaning we have an individual with average-size feet, if it’s a male,’ Sebastian said. ‘And oversize biceps. Any other traces?’
Carstens shook his head. ‘Smudged fingerprints. Obviously wearing gloves.’
‘Witnesses?’ Bimsdale asked.
‘None so far.’
‘Let’s concentrate on the body and the scene right now, Special Agent,’ Sebastian said, looking around the living room.
‘You need to see this,’ Carstens said, going to the rear of the body. He pointed to two gaping holes, one on each side of the lower back. ‘The killer took his kidneys.’
Arthur Bimsdale craned forward.
‘He hasn’t seen that kind of mutilation before,’ Sebastian explained.
‘One of the victims of the Occult Killer in D.C. had his kidneys removed, didn’t he?’ the major said softly.
Sebastian shook his head. ‘No, his kidneys were skewered, but they were left in situ.’
‘Still, could there be a connection?’
‘Too early to say, Andy. So the killer took both eyes and kidneys?’
The major nodded.
‘Where’s the bathroom?’ Sebastian went in the direction Carstens pointed, stepping around a CSI who was examining a sheepskin rug.
Another technician, this one female, was standing in the bath and bagging hair samples.
‘Have you checked the toilet?’ the FBI man asked.
‘It’s gleaming,’ the woman replied. ‘The vic must have had a cleaner.’
Sebastian raised an eyebrow at her and headed for the bedroom beyond. The main feature was a king-size bed, covered by a quilt with what looked like a Native American design. The walls and other surfaces were not marked with blood or any other obvious sign of the killer’s presence.
‘This scene is different from the others,’ Sebastian said quietly, when he rejoined his assistant in the living room.
‘No Nazi words or symbols?’ Bimsdale asked.
‘No. And no body parts in the bathroom. I wonder why.’
‘It isn’t unheard of for killers to change their M.O.’
‘Thank you, Special Agent, I’ll bear that in mind.’
Andy Carstens bit back on a smile as he came up to them. Sebastian’s tongue had always been sharp and he’d been on the wrong side of it more than once. He’d also been outsmarted, but he was damn sure that wasn’t going to happen again.
‘Have you looked behind all the paintings and posters?’ Sebastian asked.
The major nodded. ‘Nothing doing. The Nazi connection was kinda public in the Boston murder, wasn’t it?’
Sebastian nodded.
‘Maybe we’ll find something in daylight,’ Bimsdale suggested.
The older men looked at each other.
‘Obviously you’ll want anything of that sort to be kept under wraps,’ Carstens said to Sebastian.
‘Won’t you, too?’
The homicide chief nodded. ‘I’ll get extra people on the streets at first light.’
‘Make sure they cover any evidence up rather than destroy it,’ Sebastian said.
Andy Carstens didn’t like his tone, but refrained from comment. Peter Sebastian had been known to screw local law enforcement over big-time.
‘Do you want joint command?’
Sebastian shook his head. ‘We’ll stay in the background, at least for now. Special Agent Bimsdale will keep in touch with your people.’
The major was surprised, though he didn’t show it. Since when did the FBI stand back in a case like this? he asked himself. Then he thought about the potential consequences. If the killer was hard to catch, there was nothing but failure and opprobrium in store for the officer in charge of the investigation. Which meant two things. Slim Andy needed to keep a close eye on the Bureau’s head of violent crime. And it was time he did some serious delegation himself.
Nine
There was a flash of white light and I came round. Doctors Brown and Rivers huddled at the foot of the bed. I let them confer for a while, my mouth and lips drier than raisins. Finally they noticed that my eyes were open.
‘You’re awake!’ Rivers’s face was unusually animated.
I looked at his colleague. Alexandra Brown’s cheeks were glowing and her eyes were bright.
‘Fantastic, Matt,’ she said, gripping my forearm. ‘You did really well.’
I was glad she was happy, but I was still tied down and desperate for a drink. I looked pointedly at the cup on the bedside table.
‘Undo the straps,’ I gasped, after I’d been given water through a straw.
They glanced at each other.
‘Not yet,’ Rivers said. ‘Dr. Brown’s protocol is that we must wait an hour.’
‘Wonderful. So what happened? I heard music, the Who, I think, then I was falling…’
‘I’ll need you to tell me everything you can,’ the woman said. ‘But the results I have so far are very encouraging. Your readings are better than I ever expected.’ She was like a schoolgirl with a new crush, though not on a human, but a process.
‘Calm down, Alex,’ I said.
She shot me a look that was slightly less icy than normal. ‘Excuse me. I’ve been working on this for a long time.’
‘Good for you. Just tell me what it means for me.’
‘Very well.’ She went back to efficient-scientist mode. ‘It’s difficult to describe for the layman. Basically we tapped into the deepest levels of your memory. Much of the data will need extensive analysis before its significance can be established. The process caused you to speak numerous words in German that we think were triggers. The reverse-conditioning action that I have built into the procedure means that those words will no longer provoke you into predetermined courses of action.’
‘Try me.’
She looked at Dr. Rivers, who nodded. They went over to the bank of screens at the foot of the bed.
‘Blaue Reiter,’ she said.
I felt absolutely nothing.
‘Remarkable,’ Rivers said. ‘Quite remarkable.’
‘Machtergreifung.’
The same again.
‘Wohlauf.’
Ditto, and so on. In every case, I remained completely unaffected. That was unlike the sessions I’d had with Rivers, when I always had to fight the triggers’ effects consciously, with varying degrees of success.
‘Congratulations, Dr. Brown,’ Rivers said, gripping her hand. If he hadn’t been such a dry old stick I’d have bet on him inviting her for a candlelit dinner when we were done.
‘That isn’t all, Mr. Wells,’ the female scientist said, levels of formality in the lab now fully restored. ‘You also gave certain information that I think will interest our FBI colleagues substantially.’
‘What information?’
‘Please, Mr. Wells,’ Rivers said. ‘You can’t expect us to share classified material with you.’
‘Classified material? You just said it came from me. Why can’t I know what it is?’
