Game (Jasper Dent #2)(77)

“Just another nutjob.” Hughes sounded defeated.

“Unis and evidence collection are on the scene. Want to check it out?” Morales asked.

“Let’s go,” Jazz said.




Morales drove Jazz to the crime scene; Hughes stayed behind to coordinate the task force gathering the day’s alibis from their potential suspects.

“We also ran his name as a matter of course,” Morales said, still speaking of Belsamo, clearly pissed off. “He was questioned the night of the S-line murder in connection with a drunk-and-disorderly. Unis confirm he was with them for an hour in Boerum Hill. No way he had time to schlep out to Midtown, find our girl, do his thing, and then leave her on the S.”

“So… it’s definitely not him.”

Morales nodded a tight little nod. “Never even got anyone in there to take a blood sample. All happened too fast. Damn!” She slammed a palm against the steering wheel. “Thought we had this one.” She grabbed her phone and stabbed out a number as they paused at a light, then barked at whoever answered to cancel the court order. “No point wrecking a judge’s weekend for nothing. We might need a happy one later on.”

Jazz could feel the smoldering anger boiling off her like steam. She probably thought it made her tough, but it actually made her vulnerable. Angry people weren’t thinking straight. It would be easy to—

Stop doing that!

Never killed a cop before. Not even a lady cop, Billy mused. And this one’s real special, ain’t she? Tried to catch ol’ Hand-in-Glove, didn’t she? Would be great to get to know her from the inside out, get my drift?

Go to hell, Billy.

Hell’s all around, Jasper m’boy?

As Morales had said, the crime scene was mere blocks from the precinct. A crowd had gathered, along with the usual media vultures. Morales handed Jazz a pair of sunglasses and an FBI baseball cap. Crude disguise, but maybe it would work.

NYPD uniforms had set up a perimeter around the scene and now did their level best to keep gawkers and press from getting too close. Jazz looked around quickly as he stepped out of the car. This was brazen, leaving the body here. P.S. 29 was on the corner of Baltic and Henry. Not a busy intersection, from what Jazz could tell, but even a lightly traveled New York intersection got more traffic than the busiest in Lobo’s Nod. Right across the street was a Chinese restaurant—two guys in food-spattered aprons stood in the doorway, gaping at the craziness across the street.

The rest of the buildings within sight looked residential. Smallish, squat apartment buildings and some town houses.

“He’s definitely getting cocky,” Jazz murmured to Morales as they ducked under the crime-scene tape. “Dumping right out in the open like this?”

“Yeah.” Morales had taken in the surroundings, too. “Safe bet—well, safe-ish—that no one’s lingering around a school on the weekend, but even so, he had to figure someone would pop up unexpected.”

“Where’s the witness?”

Morales pointed. An NYPD uniform stood near the front door to the school, holding out a cup of what could have been coffee or water or even whiskey to a woman in a winter coat who seemed to be on the verge of hyperventilating. “Dr. Meredith Sinclair. Assistant principal at P.S. Twenty-nine. She’s not going to be any use to us for a few minutes. Let the unis calm her down and then we’ll take a run at her.”

Jazz liked the way she said “we.”

The body lay almost like a snow angel just within a fence that separated the school grounds from the sidewalk along Baltic. Nothing new. Jazz went into instant assessment mode.

Caucasian female, age twenty-five to thirty. Blond. Naked. Slit open from breastbone to waist, the gaping wound of her gut revealing the shiny-slick loops of intestines. Eyelids gone. Eyes missing.

“Left the guts in this time,” Morales mumbled, crouching down for a better look, blocking a crime-scene tech. Annoyed, the tech moved a bit and took another photo of the body. Another cop shot video.

“No,” Jazz said. “Put them back.”

Morales arched an eyebrow and summoned one of the medical examiner’s men, who probed at the corpse and confirmed that, yes, the intestines were no longer attached to the body. They’d been removed, then stuffed back inside.

“Evolution of his signature?” Morales wondered aloud.

“Or maybe just expedient,” Jazz said. “Maybe he wanted to leave a clean murder site and he didn’t have anywhere else to put her guts when he moved her.”

“She was left here sometime between ten, ten-fifteen, which is when Dr. Sinclair got here to do some work before the winter break ended, and three, which is when she came out the front door. Nice little five-hour window.” Morales tsked. “Anything else, Boy Wonder? You’re the one who found all the stuff we missed at the other scenes.”

Jazz shook his head. “There’s nothing else to see here. This is just the dump site. Every clue available to you is in or on the body.” He turned a tight circle, scanning the surroundings. “I don’t see any security cameras pointed this way. You won’t see him there. But maybe canvass the surrounding blocks, see if someone saw something as he headed this way. He wouldn’t have been walking, not with a load like that. You’re looking for a car that stopped at this intersection, a guy who got out….”