Red Shadows by Mitchel Scanlon Page A

Department immediately, reducing him to civilian status fast enough to make his head spin. And, in the years since Necropolis, it seemed to him that his head had done enough spinning already. Sometimes, it felt like his whole world had turned on its axis and was doing cartwheels, leaving him hanging on grimly in the hope that one day things might return to normal. He wanted to be able to forget. He wanted to be able to forgive himself. But he was a Judge. To a Judge, forgiveness was like mercy: a strange and alien emotion that did not quite come naturally.
    I just have to crack this case as quickly as possible, he told himself. Concentrate on catching the perp so I can get Anderson out of my hair. In the meantime, I just have to hold it together. Above all else, I can't let Anderson know what I'm thinking. I just have to watch my thoughts. I can do it. I've kept this thing to myself for so long. I can keep it inside a little while longer.
    His mind made up, Weller extended his hand to press the button for the elevator to take him down to the sub-basement morgue. The elevator doors closed, the narrow confines of the elevator closing in around him like a coffin. With a distant electric hum the elevator began moving.
    A man going down.
     
    "I can't even begin to explain it," Anderson said, as she turned to face the three men who had gathered in the morgue to hear the results of the psychometric scans. "I performed a psi-scan on each of the three bodies. In each case, it's clear that the killer gained entrance to the apartment disguised as a delivery man. With Margaret Penrith and Eunice Bibbs he claimed to be from Synthi-Flora with a delivery of flowers and candy, just like with Brenda Maddens. With Vincent Henk he claimed to be from EPS Prize Delivery, come to deliver a brand new state-of-the-art Tri-D player that Henk had won by filling in a shoppers' survey at his local buy-mart. But that's not the weird thing. The weird thing is, with each victim the killer looked completely different. With Vincent Henk he was a short, dumpy guy. With Margaret Penrith he was a tall guy. With Eunice Bibbs he was brown-haired, with Brenda Maddens he was blond. And with each victim his face was different, too. If I didn't know better, I'd say we were looking for four different killers."
    "But that's impossible," Tek-Judge Yoakim said. "The DNA-"
    "I know." Anderson held up a hand to cut him off. "The DNA says the same man was at all their apartments, and hence he must be the killer. Either that or this whole thing is the biggest coincidence in the history of Judicial investigation."
    "It's not just that," Noland said from beside Yoakim. "It's not only the DNA that points to a single perp. There's the autopsy evidence as well. All the things we talked about: the single slash wound to the throat and the pattern of increasing severity of mutilation on each victim; all the evidence points to one man being responsible for all the killings. Then, there's the knife. I can't conclusively rule out a different weapon, but there are wound characteristics in each killing that suggest the perp used a Bowie knife. It can't all just be a coincidence."
    "No, it can't," Anderson told him. "I agree, and that's why I'm at a loss to explain it. But there it is, all the same. I saw four different delivery men in the victims' psychic impressions. Of course, it might just mean I'm going crazy, but, frankly, I was hoping somebody here might be able to offer a better explanation."
    "Maybe he's using a face-changing machine?" Yoakim ventured. "We already know the perp is smart enough to wear a coat made from Stay Kleen. And you know what else? It turns out that none of the blocks where he killed his victims had working surveillance cameras inside them. They either weren't equipped with cameras in the first place, or the cameras they did have were offline for maintenance. It could be the perp is picking blocks like that intentionally. But he still has to worry about