What Have You Done Read online

  “How’re things going with you and Vanessa?”

  “Good, actually. I think we’re really doing good. That counselor you recommended is fantastic.”

  “That’s great to hear.” She handed one of the mugs over. “Like I said, it takes a while, but if both of you are committed to making it work, it will. Two partners who are in it together make all the difference.”

  “I think you’re right. I can sense the change for the better. We’re not totally there yet but so much better than we were.”

  Gerri smiled as the conversation died. “So what brings you to see me today?” she asked. “Sounded kind of urgent when we spoke.”

  Liam placed the coffee down on a table in front of him. He grabbed his briefcase, opened it, and pulled out a folder. “We came across this victim at the Tiger Hotel in Center City last Sunday. She checked in with a man that Saturday night and was discovered by the owner the next day. The killer paid cash and left a phony name, so we don’t have much to go on. I need to know what the significance of some of this mutilation could represent.” He extracted the crime scene photographs from the folder, placing them side by side on the table. He desperately wanted to tell her more. He wanted to tell her about the affair with Kerri, waking up in the tub on Sunday morning, unable to remember anything about the night before. He wanted to tell her about the phone and his clothes in the trunk, the scratch on his chest. And he wanted her to reassure him that he had nothing to do with Kerri’s death. But he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know her well enough to trust her with such information.

  Gerri picked up each photograph, studied it, and placed it back with the rest. “What exactly were the mutilations?” she asked. “All I see here is a big mess.”

  “The victim was two months pregnant. According to the autopsy, she was hanged, her head was shaved, and her stomach was slit with her placental sack being pierced, not necessarily in that order.”

  “Were there signs of healed wounds or bruises that were fading?”

  “I’d have to check with the medical examiner. Why do you ask?”

  “At first blush, I’d say the fact that she was pregnant and the nature of the injuries all point to spousal abuse. The extreme measures that were carried out at the hotel paint a picture of ongoing abuse reaching its final breaking point. I’d look into a boyfriend or spouse.”

  “She wasn’t married.”

  “How about a boyfriend?”

  Liam’s face reddened. “None that we know about, but we’re still looking into it.”

  Gerri picked up another picture. “The way I see it, this woman had a significant other who was a control freak. Power over women can be very enticing, very addictive to someone like this. I hesitate calling him a sociopath because this could be anything from a psychotic break to a serial killer and everything in between. We just don’t know yet.

  “I’d envision him beating her or ruling over her, always the one needing to be in control, always secretly scared to death that he may lose that control. The hanging could be simply the suspect’s need to scare the victim, to hold her in suspense until he kills her. Again, this all stems from the killer having the power and controlling what takes place next.

  “Perhaps the pregnancy was unplanned, unexpected. She told the man about the baby, and that represented his loss of control. He killed her by hanging her and then slit her stomach in both an attempt to scar her as well as to make sure the baby was dead. He was going to be the one who controlled life and death. Him killing her made the unplanned loss of control go away. Him killing her made everything all right again.”

  Liam looked at the pictures on the table. He’d never tried to control anything about Kerri. In fact, it was her loose spirit that had made her so attractive. They’d had a few superficial arguments, but he’d never touched her. The person Gerri was describing was not a person Liam could ever be. “What about the hair?” he asked. “What does that tell you?”

  Gerri took a picture that showed a close-up of Kerri’s shaved head. She studied it for a few minutes. “What’s the one thing that makes or breaks a woman in our society?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Beauty. Our makeup, our bodies, our nails, our eyebrows, our figures, and our hair. Hair is probably the greatest self-defining, first-impression characteristic both women and men have, but for women its significance is much greater. Our hair defines us, like it or not. I hate the fact that society makes us obsess about our hair and all these other things, but we do, all of us.

  “Shaving the head is this guy’s way of making the victim ugly in his mind. He’s using his power to take away her beauty. That’s what he’s trying to do here. It’s all about the power. The killer and his power.” She handed the pictures back. “What was the victim’s name?”

  “Kerri Miller.”

  Gerri took a pen from her breast pocket and jotted the name on a notepad. “If you get me her social security number, I’ll do a search to see if she was ever admitted to an ER for something that would indicate abuse.”

  “That would be great.”

  “You should also do an off-line search through NCIC to see if there have been any other murders with these trademarks. The slashing of the stomach. The hair. The hanging. A combination of the three. As I said, I don’t know what we’re dealing with here. Wouldn’t hurt to tap NCIC.”

  “Will do.” Liam took the photographs and opened the folder. As he began to drop them into the file, he stopped. “Let me ask you something. Is it possible for someone to commit a crime like this and not remember it? I mean, not have the faintest idea they were ever near a hotel, let alone do all this. Is it possible to forget everything?”

  “Absolutely. If this guy had a psychotic break, his mind could shut down, and at that point he becomes a machine, his body just going through the motions with his subconscious leading the way. He then would repress the memory, and he could wake up the next day and not remember anything. Not even the tiniest little detail. He could forget it all. Repression is a defense mechanism. Women who’ve been raped have been known to repress so deeply that they’ll pass a lie detector test. They have no recollection of the rape ever taking place.”

  “Really?”

  “In a psychotic break, the memories are usually triggered as time goes on. Could take days or years, but the memories surface after a while. Why do you ask?”

  “I was reading a case study the other day. Guy committed murder and had no memory of it. I thought it was strange.”

  “It’s more common than you think.”

  Liam slid the folder into his briefcase and climbed off the couch. “Thanks, Doc. This helps a lot.”

  “And we didn’t need Nancy Drew after all.”

  “I told you.”

  Gerri walked Liam to the door. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said. “Call me, and we’ll do lunch. And keep going strong with Vanessa. I know you’ll be fine.”

  “I will. And I’ll have Jane send you Kerri’s social security number so you can check with the hospitals.”

  They said their goodbyes, and Liam made his way out of the office. He walked down the hall slowly, thoughts cascading one after the other. Technically speaking, it was possible he could have killed Kerri and not remembered it, but there was no way he ever laid a finger on her in the past. He wasn’t a control freak. There were suddenly more questions than answers.

  “Hey, Liam,” Gerri called as he was about to turn the corner for the elevators. Her voice was darker now, serious. “Find this guy. He’s dangerous, and if he did all that to this woman, he can do it to another. Find him.”

  “We’re trying,” Liam said as the burden of his secrets consumed him. “We’re doing our best.”

  Gerri disappeared back into her office, and Liam made his way toward the elevators. He had one more stop to make before leaving the hospital.

  17

  The nurse was quiet as she wrapped the rubber tourniquet around Liam’s bicep and tapped the inner part of his arm to
get a good vein. The lab was only one floor down from Gerri’s office and around the corner from Radiology. His team had used it many times before in various investigations where speed was a priority, so he was familiar with the personnel manning the floor, and they were familiar with him. But this particular nurse was new. He’d never seen her before.

  “And what are we sending this out for?” the nurse asked as she slid the needle into his arm and began attaching the vials that would hold his sample. She was short and middle-aged and worked quickly. There was no doubt she had years of experience behind her. He’d hardly felt the needle break the skin.

  “General tox screen. Anything that might come up.”

  “Am I sending the results to the department?”

  “You can send it directly to my attention. Dr. Fleece has my contact information. I’m using my blood as a baseline test in a comparison we’re working on back at the office.”

  “Couldn’t get this done there? Seems like a hassle to come all the way over for a baseline draw.”

  “I needed it high priority, and I figured if we take a sample somewhere other than the precinct, no one can challenge its validity. Neutral playing field. Plus you guys can deliver faster than we can.”

  The nurse was only half listening. No doubt she had other patients waiting. She leaned down to switch out one vial that was full with another empty one. “You can relax your grip,” she said. “And they’ll always challenge the validity of the test. If it’s between a conviction and a challenge, it won’t matter where you got this baseline drawn from. And, for the record, I don’t want to be called to no witness stand.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep you out of it.”

  “Please do.”

  Liam let his fist go and looked up at the nurse. She concentrated on her task and said nothing more. There was a desire to try to explain further, but anything else that came to mind seemed like overkill. Instead, he sat in silence as the seconds ticked away in a prolonged awkwardness.

  When everything was complete, the nurse capped the last vial, pulled the needle from his arm, and attached a piece of cotton with a Band-Aid. “All set.”

  “Thanks.”

  “We’ll send this out in a few. Should have something for you by tomorrow. Next day at the latest.”

  Liam rolled his shirt sleeve down and buttoned the cuff as he walked out of the lab and back into the hall. When he got to the elevators, he grabbed his phone from his pocket and dialed his office.

  “Forensics. Jane Campelli.”

  “Jane, it’s Liam. I’m at Jefferson. Just finished up with Gerri, and she suggested we call in an off-line search through NCIC.”

  “Okay.”

  He stepped onto the elevator with two other people. “We need to search for homicides involving any combination of hanging, lacerations to the stomach, and head shaving.”

  “Isn’t that something Heckle and Keenan would handle?”

  “I just spoke to them before I called you,” he lied. “They were busy following up on interviews from the club, so I told them we’d do it.”

  The other two elevator occupants took a step back when he began explaining the search criteria.

  “Start with Philadelphia and build out from there. Gerri seems to think there might be a chance our perp has done this before. Maybe not to the extent we saw at the Tiger, but perhaps a variation of it. It’s worth looking into.”

  “Okay,” Jane replied. “I’m on it. You heading back here?”

  “Yeah, later. I need to check in on a few things across town first. Call me if you need anything.”

  The elevator doors opened as Liam was hanging up his phone. The other two occupants rushed past him and scurried across the lobby out onto the street. He had missed the connection between his graphic description of the search criteria and their hurried escape. His mind was too preoccupied with other things.

  The NCIC was the National Crime Information Center. It was a nationwide computerized information database that included millions of records, ranging from petty theft to murder. Through the NCIC, local, state, and federal law enforcement had instant access to all available records and could cross-reference past offenses, outstanding warrants, and crime trends. Most police departments had the NCIC system in their patrol cars to aid officers during traffic stops and other calls to determine if the suspect had warrants or past offenses. What he needed was an off-line search, which was a very specific cross-referencing of key terms that the regular database wouldn’t have built into the system police departments used. Jane would have to reach out to their local FBI office to conduct the kind of search he was asking for. Results would most likely be back in a few days.

  Liam walked out of the hospital toward his car, which was parked in a lot adjacent to the main entrance. He thought about his fingerprints at the scene, the scratch down his chest, his rare blood type found under Kerri’s nails, and her phone being in his trunk on top of the clothes he’d been wearing the day she was killed. He thought about the animal Gerri had described in her office while profiling the type of person who could commit such a crime. A man who was capable of doing such savage things was foreign to him. There was no way he’d be capable of the kind of violence he’d seen at the hotel. So then why was there suddenly so much evidence to the contrary? Why was everything pointing to him and no one else? He tried desperately to think about events from the night she was killed. Still, there was only blackness. Why couldn’t he remember?

  18

  “Hey, sorry I’m late.”

  Liam walked through the maze of tables as he approached Vanessa and Joyce. Joyce was Don’s age, tall and thin, and had mesmerizing eyes that seemed almost iridescent. She was a kind woman and had become as much a part of their lives as Don had. She always dressed nicely and today had on an aqua-colored dress and radiant red heels. Vanessa was in her scrubs, as she’d be heading straight to work from lunch. The two of them were sitting at the small table for three and couldn’t have looked more opposite, yet their friendship was a strong bond.

  Joyce rose from her seat and kissed Liam. “If you’re working the same hours as my husband, it’s no wonder you’re late. What they got you involved with that takes up all your time?”

  “Everything,” Liam replied. “And all at once.”

  “Up and gone Saturday night. Up and out last night. Always running around, that man.”

  Vanessa kissed Liam. “I had no idea what you were in the mood for, so I told the waiter you’d decide when you got here. We started without you. I gotta get back for my shift.”

  Liam looked at the half-eaten salads and sandwiches spread out on the table. Nothing looked appetizing. His stomach had been in knots all morning.

  “Take a load off,” Joyce said. “Tell us about this mega case you and Don are working on.”

  Liam poured himself a glass of water but remained standing. “I am on a new homicide, but not with Don and Sean. They’re working something else. And I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I just stopped by because I knew you’d be waiting. If I wasn’t already in the area, I would’ve called and canceled, but I figured I’d see you for a quick hello.”

  Vanessa stared at him for a long time, then turned away and began playing with the napkin on her lap. “You can’t stay? You said you’d join us for lunch.”

  “I’m sorry. And for the record, I said maybe.”

  “Can you at least have a sandwich or something? You have to eat.”

  “I can’t. The day is already getting away from me.”

  “But you shouldn’t work on an empty stomach. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Vanessa, I can’t.”

  Vanessa looked back up at him with a combination of sadness and anger in her eyes. “You promised.”

  “I didn’t promise. I said I’d try, and I did try. Things are too crazy today.”

  There was an awkward silence that fell between them until Joyce spoke up. “It’s okay,” she said. “Go do what you have to do. We understan
d. I’m going to finish eating with my favorite girl here, and we’re going to take a walk around Independence Plaza to chat. Just us ladies.”

  Liam placed his water back on the table. “Okay.”

  Joyce pointed at him. “But let the record stand that you owe her. If you promised lunch and there’s no lunch, then it goes on the ledger as an IOU. You got that?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good, then go. We got some gossipin’ to do. Can’t talk behind your back when you’re standing right there in front of us.”

  Liam looked down at Vanessa. “I really am sorry. If there was a way I could make more time, I would. It’s just one of those days.”

  Vanessa nodded. “You can make it up to me later.”

  “I will.”

  “I love you, you know. You realize that, don’t you?”

  “Of course. I love you too.”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  As Liam walked back through the maze of tables, he could hear Joyce start talking about one of the women they were friends with from a cooking class they used to take together. Something about her oldest son going to rehab after an overdose. Their voices faded with distance, yet in his mind’s eye, he could still see the look of disappointment on Vanessa’s face when he had told them he couldn’t stay. He hated that this case was taking him away from a marriage that needed to be cared for and cultivated. But there was a truth out there that he had to find before others within the department discovered their own version of it. His freedom depended on it.

  19

  The outside of the art museum was packed with people. Tourists sprinted up the famous steps and leapt in victory as Rocky Balboa had done so many years before. Although Rocky’s statue was gone, the treads of his sneakers were cemented into the concrete, and those same tourists took their time snapping pictures and posting videos because, as everyone knew, if you couldn’t post it, it didn’t really happen. Others walked past the fountains and beneath the oversized stone columns to get into the museum itself, more interested in the works of art inside than what pop culture offered outside. It was the perfect place to meet, surrounded by so many strangers.