Many times, late into a night of bad dreams, Byrne had wished this ability would go away. Just as often he wished it would develop, becoming more clear and profound, something he could channel. It never happened. It had always been — and, he suspected, would always be — something that came and went. Something that had its own power and agenda.
Ever since the visions began Byrne believed he would one day walk onto a scene and know that it was the beginning of the end, that he was about to engage in a great battle, a stand between good and evil.
This was that day. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he knew it.
It was finally happening.
In the vestibule of the old building was a narrow door to the left, slightly ajar, its hinges rusted, its jambs out of square. Byrne shouldered the door. It opened just enough for him to squeeze through.
He mounted the winding stone staircase to the bell tower. When he made it to the top he stepped inside. The bell itself was long gone; the two small windows were covered with thin slats of wood lath.
Byrne pulled a few of the slats free. The parched wood came loose with very little effort. The gray light coming through the opening gave him a better view from the landing.
He closed his eyes, felt the feeling wash over him, the knowledge that -
— this evil has just awakened and the mother and child mother and child mother and child the -
— mother and child.
Byrne opened his eyes, looked out the window. He saw Jessica on the street, talking to one of the CSU officers. Next to Jessica stood Maria Caruso and Josh Bontrager. Behind them stood thirty or so people gathered to bear witness to what had happened today, many of them women -
— having given birth to a child who would one day grow to be a man who would expiate the sins of his father by becoming his own father, a man who would walk the dark corners of the night and -
— do murder.
Byrne thought of Jessica, of her daughter and newly adopted son. He thought of his ex-wife Donna and their daughter Colleen. He thought of Colleen, who would one day soon find love and have a child of her own. He thought about Tanya Wilkins and her sons Gabriel and Terrell. He thought of all the women who hoped for the best for their sons and daughters. He thought of that day long ago when he walked into a church and saw the small figure in the back pew, that blood red coat, the smell of death, a scent he would forever carry in his soul.
Mother and child, Kevin Byrne thought.
Mother and child.
EIGHT
By the time they returned to the Roundhouse the victim had been transported to the morgue. There he would be fingerprinted, which was protocol for a John Doe. Prints were rarely, if ever, lifted at the scene. Once the prints were taken they would be sent to the latent print section, where they would be run through IAFIS, the Integrated Automated Fingerprint Identification System, a program run and maintained by the FBI. If the victim had ever been arrested, or worked for a government agency, his prints would be on file.
While Jessica waited she did the initial paperwork, including filling out the body chart, the standard Police Department form that had four outlines of the human body drawn on it, front and back, left and right side. It also had space for the fundamental details of the crime scene. Whenever someone came onto an existing case, this was the first document they consulted.
But this body chart was a bit more difficult than usual. It was not easy to diagram the wounds on the body. The fatal wound — the laceration that had probably been responsible for the victim bleeding out — was the one barb that looked to have been specifically sharpened for that purpose. They would know a lot more about that when the victim was autopsied the next morning.
While all this was pending Jessica called a friend of hers at L amp; I. The Licenses and Inspections Department was the agency dedicated to, among other things, enforcement and regulation of the city’s code requirements regarding public safety, including building, plumbing, electrical, mechanical, fire, property maintenance, business, and zoning regulations.
After being on hold for more than five minutes she hung up, deciding to just go there and get what she needed. She crossed the duty room to where Byrne sat at a terminal, running the names of some of the witnesses they had spoken to.
‘I’m going to run over to L amp; I and get a history on that building,’ Jessica said.
In a city like Philadelphia, with a 300-year history, there was always a battle being fought between progress and preservation. The crime-scene building from that morning had easily been more than a hundred years old. There was nothing particularly interesting or attractive about it, and it clearly had been used for a number of purposes over the years. A visit to the zoning archives would give them a handle on who, if anyone, owned the building now, and what it had been used for in the past.
Jessica slipped on her coat, looked at her watch. ‘Who’s on at the morgue today?’
Byrne picked up the phone, made a call to the ID unit. During day work — the shift that was on duty between 8 a.m.
and 4 p.m. — the print unit kept a technician at the morgue to take prints from unidentified victims. It was the least glamorous duty in the unit — if indeed there was a glamorous section to the latent print unit — and sometimes there was a backlog. Every homicide detective wanted their John or Jane Doe prints yesterday, but sometimes the bodies had to go into the refrigeration rooms pending the process, which made a lousy job even worse.
Byrne hung up the phone. ‘Judy’s on.’
Jessica smiled. ‘Lucky us.’
Judy Brannon was in her late thirties, single, and looking. She was also fearless. Jessica had once visited the morgue on a high-profile case, with the intention of walking the prints through the system. She watched Judy Brannon trying to get prints from a cold corpse when all of a sudden, in the middle of the process, the dead man’s hand contracted, closing around Judy’s wrist. Jessica had jumped a foot when it happened — not to mention enduring two sleepless nights as a result — but Judy had remained completely calm throughout.
In addition to her valiant work, and rather Rubenesque figure, Judy Brannon had a mad crush on Kevin Byrne.
‘Bring me back something sweet,’ Jessica said to Byrne as he walked out the door, heading to the morgue.
‘Besides myself?’ he asked.
‘Not that sweet.’
The zoning records for the city of Philadelphia were located at the concourse level of the Licenses and Inspections offices at 15th and JFK. The area dedicated to studying the archives was a warren of drab gray cubicles.
While she waited, Jessica considered that, because this was part of a homicide investigation, she could have had her commissioner call the commissioner of L amp; I, thereby greasing the wheels. She decided that sometimes it was easier to save the chit, and wait in line. She flashed her badge and a smile, and before too long an L amp; I employee led her over to a terminal, and showed her how to access the information she wanted.
The process was a little confusing at first, but Jessica soon found the data on the crime-scene building. She began to read the history of the address, which went back more than 150 years.