Boy Crucified Read Online Free PDF Page B

to.”
     
     
    III
     
    W HEN we got to the station, I was surrounded by reporters who had been waiting for me. They knew me, knew my beat, knew I had been assigned to investigate the boy’s death.
    Could I comment on the “crucified kid”?
    No, I could not.
    Did I know who did it?
    No, I did not. What sort of stupid question was that?
    When would I know?
    How the hell should I know?
    “You need to speak to Lt. Mac Harris,” I said, annoyed. “He’s the spokesman. You guys know that.”
    Yes, but was I making progress? Did I think this was the work of a serial killer? Was he targeting young men? Shouldn’t the city be warned? Was it a real crown of thorns? Where did they get the thorns? From rosebushes? Couldn’t I at least give them the victim’s name?
    I answered none of these questions, merely pushed past the reporters with Daniel following me, a bewildered look on his face. I suggested they make themselves available for the noon press briefing to be given by Lt. Harris. Of course, I didn’t tell them Harris was very touchy about lowly detectives daring to give statements to the media that he had not personally authorized, and which he had not had a chance to put his own personal spin on. But there were always “sources close to the investigation” who were willing to bypass him, as I did myself, on occasion, when it suited my needs.
    On my desk was the autopsy for the “crucified kid.”
    It was a small catalog of horrors, one description after the next of each wound and the effect they’d had on the boy. His manner of death was described with the general phrase “shock and trauma.” Added to this was the suggestion that VF may have played a part, as indicated by the increased levels of epinephrine in the boy’s blood. As for his general appearance, he was rather on the scrawny side, had a lot of cavities, and had not been taking proper care of his teeth.
    “When’s the meeting?” I asked.
    “Seven thirty,” Daniel replied.
    I switched on my computer and waited for it to boot. I looked through my in-boxes—electronic and otherwise—ignoring everything not directly related to the case. Georgina had sent over a copy of the boy’s death certificate. There were precisely thirteen requests for interviews from various media outlets, along with a message from Mac Harris that I was not to say anything about this case to anyone until he had decided how to “present” it. Harris struck me as a complete moron, and I had, from time to time, suggested as much to his face. We were not friends and never would be. Doubtless he would be at the meeting and would have something completely inane to say.
    “Man, we’d better go,” Daniel said.
    The briefing room was a small theater. There was a podium up front, theater-style seats, audio/visual equipment for showing slides and videos, with an assortment of maps on the walls—Jackson County, but also Kansas City and its outlying areas, the state of Missouri, plus the state of Kansas, since we were located on the state line and our cases often involved dealing with the Kansas City, Kansas, Police Department and the State of Kansas highway patrol.
    There was also, up in front and to the left, a boardroom-style table with seating for ten persons. Captain Harlock was sitting at the head of this table when Daniel and I arrived. Next to him was Lt. Harris, whom I did not bother to look at. Georgina was also present, plus Lt. Edwards from the tech division, McCallin, the print guy, and Lt. Jensen.
    We sat down, ready to get started.
    A meeting such as this was always held about a day after a major murder. All the involved participants had a chance to present their findings and to answer any questions the homicide detectives working the case wanted to ask. Follow-up meetings would be held as and when new evidence presented itself, if it did. But after this meeting, Daniel and I would be mostly on our own.
    Captain James T. Harlock, my boss, cleared his throat.
    He was a