been a frenzied attack. Kovaks was puzzled.
He looked quickly from the body to the blood splashes and back
to the body. A police photographer asked him to step aside while he
took more shots from a different angle. Another photographer was
videoing the scene for evidential purposes.
The stills man bent down on the far side of the bed. His
camera flashed. He stood upright and said, ‘Have you seen this?’ He
pointed down to the corner of the room.
Kovaks walked over carefully.
A piece of thick, pink, blood-oozing meat lay on the floor
skewered by a knife. The knife was thin, as long as a stiletto but
with one jagged cutting edge. Kovaks had no doubt he was looking at
the murder weapon.
He had no doubt, either, that he was looking at Whisper’s
tongue.
The message it conveyed was not lost on him.
He turned to the local sheriff who was standing at the door.
‘I assumed he’d been killed out on the ward and his body moved here
after. ‘
‘ Apparently not.’ The man shrugged. His thumbs were tucked
into his gun belt. He seemed slow-witted, but Kovaks knew not to
underestimate such people.
‘ I’ll be moving a team in here,’ Kovaks informed him, ‘but
we’d sure appreciate your cooperation. I think that together - our
skills and your local knowledge - we’ll crack this.’
The sheriff smiled. ‘Us and the FBI , working together? Sure thing,’ he
said, pleased.
‘ And obviously we’d like to set up an incident room to run
from your office, if that meets with your approval?’
‘ Yeah, sure. From my office. No problem.’ His smile widened
even further.
‘ But first can you tell me where I can locate the nurse who
found him?’
The sheriff cocked a thumb. ‘Down there. She’s pretty shook
up.’
Kovaks strolled down the ward, muttering, ‘Keep ‘em sweet,
keep, em sweet.’
The eyes of the patients were on him. Some sneered at the
sight of the badge pinned to his lapel. None spoke. He doubted if
any ever would.
The nurse was a middle-aged lady whom he’d seen earlier. She
was sitting in an office, her head buried in her hands, being
comforted by the bored-looking doctor whom Kovaks had also met
before. As Kovaks came to the door the doctor immediately ushered
him back out.
‘ She is in no condition to be interviewed yet,’ he said. ‘I’ve
given her a tranquilliser to get her this calm. Her husband should
be here soon to take her home.’
‘ When will I be able to speak to her?’
‘ Tomorrow at the earliest.’
Kovaks nodded. ‘OK. Can you tell me why Whisper was
transferred to that side ward, doc?’
‘ To aid speedy recovery. He needed complete isolation, in my
opinion.’
‘ Did you see anything that might be of use to us?’
‘ Such as?’
‘ Such as who stuck a knife into him a million
times.’
‘ No, I didn’t and frankly, I don’t have the time to talk to
you just now. I need to care for this nurse, then I need to get the
hospital back to normal.’
‘ When can I see you then?’
‘ Ask my secretary. Make an appointment.’
Jack Crosby was still alive when he was slid on a stretcher
into the back of the ambulance some fifteen minutes later, but only
just. His heart and breathing had stopped at one point, but FB’s
half-remembered first-aid training had saved him. For the time
being at least.
Karen watched the ambulance race away, blue light flashing.
She was standing at a first-floor window.
The small crowd of people who had gathered outside dispersed
slowly, leaving only two standing there: a pale, shaken FB and a
worried-looking Chief Constable. FB began talking animatedly, arms
waving, fingers pointing, voice obviously raised.
Karen’s mouth twisted sardonically. ‘I wonder who he’s talking
about,’ she said under her breath.
She watched them turn and walk into the HQ building, FB not
letting up for a second.
Karen made her way to the Chief Constable’s secretary’s office
and sat down to wait. A wave of tiredness enveloped her.
He looked quickly from the body to the blood splashes and back
to the body. A police photographer asked him to step aside while he
took more shots from a different angle. Another photographer was
videoing the scene for evidential purposes.
The stills man bent down on the far side of the bed. His
camera flashed. He stood upright and said, ‘Have you seen this?’ He
pointed down to the corner of the room.
Kovaks walked over carefully.
A piece of thick, pink, blood-oozing meat lay on the floor
skewered by a knife. The knife was thin, as long as a stiletto but
with one jagged cutting edge. Kovaks had no doubt he was looking at
the murder weapon.
He had no doubt, either, that he was looking at Whisper’s
tongue.
The message it conveyed was not lost on him.
He turned to the local sheriff who was standing at the door.
‘I assumed he’d been killed out on the ward and his body moved here
after. ‘
‘ Apparently not.’ The man shrugged. His thumbs were tucked
into his gun belt. He seemed slow-witted, but Kovaks knew not to
underestimate such people.
‘ I’ll be moving a team in here,’ Kovaks informed him, ‘but
we’d sure appreciate your cooperation. I think that together - our
skills and your local knowledge - we’ll crack this.’
The sheriff smiled. ‘Us and the FBI , working together? Sure thing,’ he
said, pleased.
‘ And obviously we’d like to set up an incident room to run
from your office, if that meets with your approval?’
‘ Yeah, sure. From my office. No problem.’ His smile widened
even further.
‘ But first can you tell me where I can locate the nurse who
found him?’
The sheriff cocked a thumb. ‘Down there. She’s pretty shook
up.’
Kovaks strolled down the ward, muttering, ‘Keep ‘em sweet,
keep, em sweet.’
The eyes of the patients were on him. Some sneered at the
sight of the badge pinned to his lapel. None spoke. He doubted if
any ever would.
The nurse was a middle-aged lady whom he’d seen earlier. She
was sitting in an office, her head buried in her hands, being
comforted by the bored-looking doctor whom Kovaks had also met
before. As Kovaks came to the door the doctor immediately ushered
him back out.
‘ She is in no condition to be interviewed yet,’ he said. ‘I’ve
given her a tranquilliser to get her this calm. Her husband should
be here soon to take her home.’
‘ When will I be able to speak to her?’
‘ Tomorrow at the earliest.’
Kovaks nodded. ‘OK. Can you tell me why Whisper was
transferred to that side ward, doc?’
‘ To aid speedy recovery. He needed complete isolation, in my
opinion.’
‘ Did you see anything that might be of use to us?’
‘ Such as?’
‘ Such as who stuck a knife into him a million
times.’
‘ No, I didn’t and frankly, I don’t have the time to talk to
you just now. I need to care for this nurse, then I need to get the
hospital back to normal.’
‘ When can I see you then?’
‘ Ask my secretary. Make an appointment.’
Jack Crosby was still alive when he was slid on a stretcher
into the back of the ambulance some fifteen minutes later, but only
just. His heart and breathing had stopped at one point, but FB’s
half-remembered first-aid training had saved him. For the time
being at least.
Karen watched the ambulance race away, blue light flashing.
She was standing at a first-floor window.
The small crowd of people who had gathered outside dispersed
slowly, leaving only two standing there: a pale, shaken FB and a
worried-looking Chief Constable. FB began talking animatedly, arms
waving, fingers pointing, voice obviously raised.
Karen’s mouth twisted sardonically. ‘I wonder who he’s talking
about,’ she said under her breath.
She watched them turn and walk into the HQ building, FB not
letting up for a second.
Karen made her way to the Chief Constable’s secretary’s office
and sat down to wait. A wave of tiredness enveloped her.
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