“That’s true,” Fleury said. “Although he probably already figured out that something was up when he saw that trooper’s car at the head of the driveway. The one question is, does he realize we’ve connected the suicides, as well?”
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t assume that, too.”
“Only one way to know for sure,” Agent Long said. “When we catch him, we’ll have to ask him.”
She opened her own folder and grimaced at what she saw.
“Are those the photos?” I said.
“Yes. Not pretty.”
“May I see them?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’ve seen crime scene photos before. Come on, let me see them before I get kicked out of here.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
She slid the folder across the table to me. Maven inched his chair closer so he could see, as well. The first photo showed Lieutenant Haggerty lying on his back, both arms stretched out on the floor as if he were caught in the middle of making a snow angel. The shot was taken from directly above him, a clean hole centered perfectly in his forehead. The blood had drained out through the exit wound and was pooled all around him.
There were several other pictures taken from different angles. Close up, farther away, his legs draped over the upended chair. Shots of the room. The back door slightly ajar. The new snow on the back porch.
“As you can see, the killer came through the back door,” Fleury said. “The exterior light was on, and the door was unlocked. There’s another road about a mile back, through the woods. Our man probably parked there and walked.”
“How would he know how to get there?”
“Again, the Internet. You can bring up a map of just about anywhere and see every little road, every driveway even.”
“Why wasn’t there another trooper watching from that back road?”
“There was yet another road about two miles to the east,” Fleury said. “He might have come from there instead. How many troopers can you put out there every single night, all night long?”
“They should have been in the house,” Maven said. “I don’t care if he didn’t want them.”
“Yeah, well, they’re probably telling themselves the same thing right now.”
“You have other photos there,” I said, nodding at the remaining pile of folders. “Are those the other crime scenes?”
“Yes.”
“Even the suicides?”
“Alex,” Agent Long said, “I’m serious now. You really don’t want to see these.”
“Yes, I do. It’s the last thing I’ll ask.”
She let out a long sigh, then pushed the folders over to me one by one. There was one set of photographs for each crime scene, starting with the double homicide of Sergeant Steele and his girlfriend, Donna Krimer-the scene Maven and I had stumbled upon. At the time, we hadn’t done much more than peek inside the doorway. Here was the whole thing in living color.
Sergeant Steele was laid out spread eagle on the floor, his arms stretched out like Lieutenant Haggerty’s, but in this case, Steele was facedown. There was an obvious entrance wound in the center of his back. The bullet probably passed right through his heart and killed him instantly. Instead of the bright red blood that had surrounded Lieutenant Haggerty’s body, the blood here was a different color-darker, duller, almost rust colored. This is what happens to blood when it lies on the floor for two days.
Donna Krimer lay five or six feet away from Steele, in her own pool of dark blood. She was on her side with both arms extended in front of her. You couldn’t even see her face. It almost looked like she was doing a dramatic death scene on a stage, every limb arranged just so. Except of course she would never stand up for her curtain call.
The next folder I didn’t even need to look at, but I did anyway. It was Charles Razniewski Sr., sprawled out on Chief Maven’s kitchen floor, his throat cut wide open, the blood painting everything around him. Chief Maven looked away from the photos, gripping his coffee cup so tightly I was surprised it didn’t shatter.
I looked at Razniewski’s open eyes one more time before I closed that folder. Photograph or no photograph, I knew I’d be seeing those eyes forever.
“It’s like we’re going back in time here,” I said. “Am I right? We sort of lost sight of that because we found out about everything out of order. But the three apparent suicides actually happened before the three obvious homicides.”
“That’s right,” Agent Long said. “If you think about it… the three children, then the three fathers. Maybe it was just those three after all. Maybe this guy’s done.”
“Or maybe that’s the way the opportunities came up for him,” Maven said. “My daughter’s been out of the country for almost five months.”
“I agree we have to act like you’re still on the list,” Agent Long said. “I’m just saying, it’s possible he considers his work to be completed.”
“What if Raz hadn’t come up here?” I said. “Our killer would have to travel a lot farther to find him. Maybe he’d still be alive now and it would be him next on the list.”
“I still don’t understand how this guy even knew he was here in Sault Ste. Marie,” Agent Fleury said. “That part still bugs the hell out of me.”
“He obviously knows all about these people,” Agent Long said. “He’s been watching them all very carefully.”
“Or he has access to some special source of information,” Maven said, “bringing us back to the idea that he’s in law enforcement. Or used to be.”
“Yes, as you were saying before,” Agent Long said. “That’s starting to sound a little more likely now.”
I opened up the next folder. Now we were into the suicides. Or what had been considered suicides before this whole case started coming together. The first was Haggerty’s daughter, again moving backward through time. She was the most recent. After all the blood of the previous photographs, these were somehow even more disturbing. There was no blood. No signs of violence whatsoever. They were almost… I couldn’t even bring myself to think it, but yes, they were almost peaceful.
A woman in her bed. It was a double bed, with the woman on one side and on the other side, where another person should have been, instead there was a large helium tank. Like you’d use to blow up balloons at a birthday party. It was the most out-of-place thing I’d ever seen and it made me feel absolutely sick to my stomach. The worst thing of all was that the woman seemed to have her arms wrapped around the tank, like it was… damn, like it was a teddy bear or something.
I closed the folder for a moment. I took a few breaths. Maven’s face was white. He’d seen his share of crime scene photos over the years, too, but I was sure he had never seen anything like this.
I opened the folder again. Looking closer, I saw the clear plastic bag around her head. The kind of bag you’d find a suit or dress inside when you went to the cleaners. It was wrapped neatly around her head and it appeared to be tied off at the neck with a cord of some type. An electrical cord? No, it looked like fabric, like the cord you’d use to tie back your drapes. Hardly even visible at all was the clear tube that ran from the tank to the bag.
“I told you you didn’t have to look at those,” Agent Long said.
I didn’t answer her. I kept going. I opened the next folder.
It was Sergeant Steele’s son. He was lying on the ground, on his back, in the snow. You could tell that it was still snowing when the photographs were taken. The snowflakes were already collected on his face. The left side of his head was ruined from the exit wound and the blood was soaking into the snow beside him. The pistol was in his right hand, his finger still on the trigger.
His eyes were closed. Once again, this time despite the blood and the gore… the whole scene almost looked peaceful.
I closed the folder. There was one left. I opened it.
Misery Bay. When I had been there, it had been empty. Now as I looked back in time at this moment captured in the photograph, I saw young Charles Razniewski hanging from the tree. His body was limp, so devoid of life you’d think he was some kind of rag doll or hanging effigy or some other crudely fashioned thing. Not a person. This wasn’t a child, not a man’s beloved son hanging here in the cold. From the spot the photographer had chosen, you could see Lake Superior through the opening in the trees. It was late in the day, so the sun was setting in the western sky and from behind the hanging body was completely in shadow. In the next photograph it was nothing but a dark figure seeming to blot out the sun itself.