“Sure, ASAP. What are you up to, Len?”
Ignoring his question, Leonard thanked George, then quickly hung up. Kevin offered Leonard a smug grin, as if to say ‘nice thinking, boss’, and Leonard went right back to reading George’s report:
Numerous blood samples were taken from ten points at the crime scene (see photos 1A, 2A, 3A). All appear to be consistent with blood from the victim. Tests to be ordered will confirm the possible presence of blood from the offender, although it appears doubtful that the murderer was harmed in any way, given the lack of blood and skin beneath the nails of the victim, or a second discernible weapon. The victim was killed quickly, the throat deeply penetrated with a precise knife slash which severed the jugular and trachea, the severity of which indicates an offender of powerful strength, most likely male. The victim’s death came, in my estimation, thirty to forty seconds after the initial wound was in place, the primary cause a combination of massive bleeding and suffocation. Immediately following the death of the victim, the offender utilized the murder weapon to puncture the victim’s body in a multitude of places (Len--please keep in mind that this is just a preliminary report based on initial observations, and not an official statement. I will have a more detailed report on the victim’s injuries to you following the autopsy, which I will perform tonight). No signs of struggle are evident, outside of some spilled books from the shelves to the right of the room, which may indicate a rather staggering and abrupt exit by the ‘bloody’ killer. Supporting this are a single set of bloody footprints (see photos marked 4A-12A) encircling the area near the bookshelf, then leading away from the scene.
Leonard placed George’s report on the desk. “
Kev
...is it possible that
Sparke
left the room, just like Carol Davis said, and
then
the murderer went in, killed Delaney, and bumped into her on the way out?”
Kevin rubbed his eyes, more confusion setting in, compounded by fatigue. “Sure it’s possible. Seems to make sense...but would the killer have had enough time to commit the act?”
“Carol Davis indicated a five to ten minute gap between the time
Sparke
left, and the time she went in to check on the doctor.”
“It is possible then. However, let’s not forget that
Sparke
could’ve murdered the doctor, and then somewhere along the line a third party entered the room, saw the murder scene and ran away, but not until after
Sparke
calmly exited.”
“It doesn’t seem likely that someone would walk into the room, wallow around in the blood, and then run away.”
“I agree...it appears to me our speculation of
Sparke
being in cahoots with a third party who committed the killing might be our only explainable theory.”
“It will also explain, as we discussed earlier, the situation with Samantha
Sparke
two years ago, and in theory, the mystery with Pamela and the blood on
Sparke’s
kitchen floor this morning.”
There was a pause of thought-filled silence. “What’s next?” Kevin finally asked. “I’m dying to sink my teeth into the file.”
“Cool your engines. We save the best for last. We’ll get a lot more done if we take things slowly, and efficiently. Next up, we run scans of the prints.”
Leonard found the envelope marked
print scans
and took them into Captain Reese’s office. He noticed that with the exception of Fran and two other officers on desk duty, the precinct was empty.
The manhunt is on
, he thought, pitying the poor slobs going around door to door with photos of
Sparke
, looking for someone who might have spotted him. The canines would be out, raised and bred by local retiree Roger Pierce, who under contract, was on call to supply his pets should the need arise. Reese would also have a helicopter flown in from the city airport to conduct a sweep of the area. A stakeout was probably being held at Richard’s apartment, and additional officers would end up at Pamela Bergin’s apartment and Samantha
Sparke’s
place.
Leonard pulled the 3.5” disc labeled print scans from the envelope and put it into the computer on Captain Reese’s desk. He pulled up a photo index containing eleven digitized photographs of fingerprints taken at the scene. Each had been enlarged and cropped to show only the specific print in question. Under each print was a line of text indicated the location the print was found. Only where the prints overlapped did George make note of any type of obliteration. Leonard was only interested in the one print George found on the blade of the knife. It was the first in the index. He clicked on the thumbnail photo and brought it up full-screen. Crystal clear it was, the lines and swirls spiraling in their design like something made on a child’s
Spirograph
.
“A perfect specimen,” Leonard noted. “Almost too perfect.”
“As if he put it there on purpose, like George had said.”
“Considering there weren’t many other instances, I’d say he did. The question is, why?”
Leonard directed the computer to search the database of prints on file, nearly ten-thousand fingers scanned and recorded since the software was installed nine years ago. In less than a minute, the screen flashed red. They had a match.
“Bingo,” Leonard said, clicking on the ‘display’ button. The second print scrolled down beside the first, revealing that the print at the murder scene belonged to a man who’d been booked at the Fairview police department in the past.
Thirty seconds later, when the image finished loading up on the screen, they had an answer.
The print at the crime scene belonged to Richard
Sparke
.
Speeding through the dusk, deep into the cooling night, from the borders of Fairview and onto the freeway, then onto the Interstate, past
Wellfield
and
Huxton
, skirting the city and then traveling far beyond into the mountains, Richard had plenty of time to settle down and think a bit. Mile by mile, the sprawl of the city fell behind, the lights of society growing smaller, dimmer. The mountainous area expanded abundantly the further upstate he went, vast stretches of raised woodland surrounding him, darkness unfurling away on all sides where the only things he could see were a few cutting rock formations and the tips of pine trees capped by a rising moon. The natural landscape exhibited a stunning combination of simplicity and grandness, and it fostered a good deal of introspection as the restful hum of the tires and the slight vibration of the steering wheel gently massaged him away from the hell he left behind.
His world seemed surreal, not simply due to the horrific events that had taken place, but also by the fact that he’d somehow obtained the knowledge to drive so well. And of course the emergence of all those other ‘previously lost memories,’ as he now ascribed them, like skillful fighting, and the ability to stealthily escape his adversary as he did. At times these and other sudden recollections interfered with his concentration--complex math problems, numbers riddling his mind, flitting in and out of his conscious thought with utter ease, scientific research--somehow he knew that if given the opportunity to sit in front of a computer, he’d be able to tackle any challenge presented to him, even though he’d never, as long as he could recall, owned a computer. Where was all this knowledge coming from? It seemed apparent that Delaney’s hypnosis triggered something powerful inside him, even if it wasn’t exactly what the good doctor had originally intended.
He tried to relax, to concentrate, his mind working hard to shun away the frolicking lost memories in an effort to devise a plan. To distract himself, he recalled the two instances he’d had the upsetting sense of being followed: earlier in the woods while fleeing, and then again at Samantha’s house while blindly searching all the rooms, unaware that the man in black was hiding in the bathroom all along. Now, although common sense dictated his general safety at the moment, he still had the foreboding suspicion of his adversary on his tail--even though no headlights appeared behind him. Obviously the man in black
madhad
known where Richard was heading when he decided to go to Samantha’s house; he would have to assume the same of him now, regardless of time limits, or physical limitations. When it came to his ‘other self’, abilities of boundless proportions seemed to be the norm, and Richard had to accept this without argument. For Christ sakes, the guy came out from his dream! He also had no choice but to believe the man in black would go to no ends to torture Richard.
And just what kind of torture was it anyway? Certainly the man in black could have killed Richard long ago, no? Clearly he made the effort to eliminate friends and loved ones--both in the real world, and from his dreams--before he even tried to put an end to Richard himself.
Now, deep in the country, Richard was able to clear his mind of many thoughts--even the newly found ones--as he considered a hiding place for the night. He exited the interstate at
Bledson
Hills and continued south along State Road 35, at once grateful for the slower pace the curves demanded; his muscles were starting to cramp, and with darkness now enfolding, he felt it necessary to take things a bit diligently--what would happen if he suddenly forgot how to drive again?
He was very hungry, but had to quell that urge for now. His first priority was to take himself as far away from civilization as possible. Not only would the man in black be looking for him, but so would the police.
He came upon a gated road with a wooden sign that read BLEDSON STATE PARK, another smaller one that read CLOSED FOR THE SEASON dangling askew just below it. He pulled to the right and stopped the car, got out and jerked one of the wooden gates free of its hinges, opening it just wide enough so the Corolla would fit through. He got back in the car, pulled forward, then went out and closed the gate behind him.
Upon fleeing Delaney’s office, everything around him had seemed hazy, out of focus. When he finally escaped Fairview in Samantha’s car, he’d been struck with a bolt of sensory overload, the buildings, the people, the stores and houses, looming over him like monsters, frightening him. Then, as he moved even further away, leaving the concrete structures of civilization behind, the fear faded and he’d had the impression of entering another life altogether, as if he’d once lived in the country long ago, in another time, another place, with no worries or concerns.
Now, taking on the mountains at this much slower pace, his senses sharpened greatly, as if he were peering through a telescope in his search for a temporary sanctuary. Was this another talent? A ‘lost memory’ seeping through? Most likely, and he savored the sudden ability, every detail of the environment looking honed, magnified: the copses lining the road, the towering pines, the dust kicking up around him, everything overwhelming his senses the further he proceeded into the mountainous area.
As the road spiraled uphill, he also noticed an effortless calm coming over him. He felt remarkably at ease, more alive and free than he’d ever felt before--despite the daunting circumstances at hand. It was as if the last three years of his life--the only life he remembered--had acted as a shroud to the quiet existence he was really meant to live. He reminded himself over and over again that regardless of the things his mind and body were now telling him--leaking all those pleasant clues to an existence he’d presumably lived prior--now was not the time to get too comfortable, or too introspective. His life was still in jeopardy.
Before taking the car over an incline that blocked his view of the slanting land behind him, Richard peered into his rearview mirror and thought he saw the kicked-up dust of a car following him. With darkness now in command, it was difficult to be certain that this was the case; the dust could have been kicked up by his own tires. Or, it could have been from the car of someone who lived in the area. Richard wasn’t convinced of anything at the moment.
His mind wandered again, this time envisioning poor Dr Delaney, his body sprawled and mutilated, the blood seeping out from multiple points in his body. Then Samantha, how she struggled to free herself from the ropes that cut into her skin, the bruises on her body, the blood on the knife that had been used to slice her tongue off. He kept remembering how she appeared to plead through the gag in her mouth, her naked chest heaving up and down, her masked eyes undoubtedly seeking solace in the carnage that had abruptly become of her life.
Richard was determined not to let this happen to him.
The road moved in a leftward curve, taking him even deeper into the brush-covered mountains. The environment was nearly black now, the moon finding no breaks in the thick canopy of pines surrounding him. This would be a good place to hide. It was out-of-the-way, seemingly uninhabited with the exception of a few spread-out cottages that may not even be occupied, given the time of season and the fact that many of them acted solely as summer getaways. The road peaked at a slope, the forested mountainside laying to his left, accentuated with queues of tall pines standing like soldiers. It was a sanctuary of nature, a land that to Richard had existed only in pictures, and on television.
Tears welled in his eyes, his sights blurring slightly as he gently brought the car down to the bottom of the slope. He did his best to continue along the thin dark road, at times jostling over rocky debris and torn branches. He wiped his eyes, one at a time, and only when his vision cleared did Richard realize it had started raining. He searched for the wiper button and depressed it. The water was sluiced away, providing him a clear glimpse of the path ahead.