Close Your Eyes Page 2

  Rhodes checked his coat. The envelope with all his money was not there.

  He rushed to his room and found the door open.

  Inside, his duffel bag and all his belongings were scattered on his bed.

  Daisy had taken the cash, but she left his stuff behind. There wasn’t anything valuable to begin with. Plus, she could now buy whatever she wanted with the money she stole from him.

  Rhodes splashed his face with more cold water.

  He kicked himself for being so naïve. He couldn’t really blame himself, though. He had spent too many days and nights inside a six-by-eight cell, which had dulled his instincts. The world was a cruel place and didn’t follow the same rules he had followed during his time in prison.

  Whatever happened in prison stayed in prison.

  If you got messed with by an inmate, you dealt with that inmate the next time you saw him.

  Rhodes was certain he would never see Daisy again.

  He dried his face and left the washroom.

  He went up to the counter and dropped some change on it. The waitress looked at the change and then brought him a cup of coffee and a bagel.

  “I’m afraid that’s all you can get with what you have,” she said to Rhodes.

  “It’ll do,” he replied.

  He took a bite of the bagel and then grabbed a newspaper lying on the seat next to him.

  Bridgeton was a big city, and he wanted to know everything about it now that he was here.

  FOUR

  Jo arrived at the Dupont Subway Station.

  The area had already been secured by the FBI. Yellow police tape surrounded the station entrance. A large group of passengers was lining up to board shuttle buses sent by the Bridgeton Transit Authority.

  Jo already knew that a dead body had been found on the train, which meant all travel between stations had been halted.

  Jo flashed her credentials to the agent at the entrance and proceeded down a flight of stairs. The tunnel leading to the train platform was eerily empty. Normally, there would be dozens of passengers moving in and out of the tunnel, but not today.

  She went down another flight of stairs and, after flashing her credentials once again, was allowed to pass through the ticket booth.

  She was greeted by Special Agent in Charge Charlotte Walters. Walters had cropped gray hair, and her face was etched with deep wrinkles. She used to be a heavy smoker but had quit a few years back. Her gray eyes were devoid of excitement, but Jo knew her mind was always racing in order to be a step ahead of the perpetrators.

  “What’ve we got?” Jo asked.

  “A passenger on the 10:20 train discovered the body. She said it was already there when she got on.”

  “What station?” Jo asked.

  “What?”

  “At what station did she get on?”

  “I think she said Chester Station.”

  Jo did a quick calculation in her head. “That’s nine stations before she discovered it. Where is she now?”

  Walters nodded towards the end of the platform. A woman and a boy were standing next to a paramedic. Jo could tell the woman was clearly shaken up.

  A man appeared on the platform.

  “We’ve got trouble,” Walters said.

  The man stormed up to them. Chief Vincent Baker of the Bridgeton Police Department was tall, imposing, and he had a large gut that was barely held in by his police uniform. He was known for his loud, unexpected outbursts.

  “This is not your crime scene,” he growled.

  “Good morning to you too, Chief Baker,” Walters replied calmly.

  “We can handle this,” Baker said. “We don’t need the FBI.”

  “I’m sure you can,” Walters said. “But we got the call.”

  Baker frowned. “What?”

  “Someone called into our command center and informed us that there would be a dead body on the train.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell us?”

  “We didn’t have time,” Walters replied.

  He stared at her.

  “We received the tip around the same time the call came in from the Transit Authority.”

  Baker’s eyes glinted with skepticism.

  Walters crossed her arms over her chest. “Okay, if you want to take over, I’ll have my team removed immediately. It’ll be your case, but you better bring your guys in fast. BTA wants us to move the body as soon as possible. They can’t hold the train on the platform for long. It’s causing a service disruption. I’m sure you saw the large group of passengers outside.”

  Baker understood he was between a rock and a hard place. He hated having to yield to the FBI, but he also didn’t have the resources to quickly move in and take over.

  “Fine,” he said. “But you keep us informed of what you find.”

  “Don’t we always,” Walters replied without smiling.

  FIVE

  Outside the Dupont station, a van pulled up by the curb. The decal across the side of the van read BN-24. BN-24 was the number one news channel in the city. It used to be called the Bridgeton Television Network, but when management decided to create a 24-hour news station, BN-24 was born.

  BN-24 had started off covering mostly entertainment stories. Dog and cat shows, Easter and Christmas parades, and food and music festivals. But now it was turning to more hard-hitting news: crime, corruption, and murder.

  Their star reporter on these stories was Ellen Sheehan. Ellen was in the passenger seat of the news van. The driver’s name was Walt Felton, and he was also the cameraman.

  Ellen looked around the scene. “Do you see any other news vans?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Walt replied. Walt wore a checkered shirt, jeans, and boots. He also had a goatee, and his baseball cap was pulled on backwards.

  “Look carefully,” Ellen ordered him. She pulled down the visor, checked her face in the mirror, and reapplied makeup to her face. Her hair was red, her eyes were green, and she had freckles on her cheeks. She wore a dark red suit, white pearls around her neck, and red lipstick.

  “I think I see someone,” Walt said. His head was sticking out the window.

  “Who?” she yelled.

  “I think it’s the Sun.” SUNTV was the second most watched news channel in the city. They were always focused on the so-called serious stories, but lately they had seen their viewership move over to their rival, BN-24.

  “I hope it’s not that slut Janie,” Ellen spat.

  Janie Fernandez was tall, dark, and beautiful. She was also once Miss New Mexico. Janie had dabbled in modeling but decided that she wanted to devote herself to more important issues in life. Janie had covered topics ranging from illegal immigrants to environmental disasters to stock market fraud.

  Janie was everything Ellen was not: respected and highly intelligent.

  “Let’s go. They’re getting out,” Ellen said.

  Ellen dashed in her heels and secured a spot in front of the entrance to the station. “Hurry up,” she said to Walt, who was adjusting his camera.

  Janie walked over to her.

  “We were here first,” Ellen said.

  Janie smiled. “That’s fine. There’s room for everyone.”

  “I don’t think there is enough room for your big ego,” Ellen replied.

  “I could say the same to you.”

  SUNTV’s cameraman, Jeff Lodgson, came over and bumped fists with Walt. Jeff was dressed in a T-shirt, cargo pants, and his baseball cap was pulled on backwards as well. Unlike their bosses, Walt and Jeff had no animosity for one another. In fact, the two would go out for drinks whenever they got the chance.

  Janie said, “Shouldn’t you be at some bake shop to find out who had baked the biggest cake in Bridgeton?”

  “Shouldn’t you be at some bikini contest to find out who can count to ten and knows the complete alphabet?” Ellen snapped back.

  Janie curled her lips and stormed away.

  Ellen couldn’t help but smile. She turned to Walt and sa
id, “Are you ready?”

  He turned on the camera.

  “Make sure you get a good shot of me, got it?”

  “Sure,” he said, and he pressed the record button.

  SIX

  Jo left Walters and Baker and moved down the train platform. She knew which car the body was in. The entire length of the compartment was surrounded by yellow tape.

  She spotted an open train door and ducked underneath the tape. In the middle of the compartment, a man wearing white overalls was leaning over the victim.

  The man in the overalls looked up and smiled. Ben Nakamura was the bureau’s medical examiner. He was short, chubby, and known for wearing colorful T-shirts and watches. He also wore prescription glasses. But what made him stand out from the crowd was that somehow Ben always found a way to color-coordinate all his accessories. One day Jo saw him wear an orange T-shirt, orange trousers, orange watch, orange sneakers, and even orange glasses. When she told him he looked like a fruit, he smiled and said there was more. He pulled up his pants and revealed his orange socks. Even his cell phone case was orange. Today, however, he was wearing overalls, but Jo noted his navy blue glasses. She was certain everything underneath his outer attire was the same color as well.

  He looked at Jo and said, “When I saw Chief Baker, I thought I was going to be kicked out.”

  “We’re still in charge.” She glanced over at the victim. The victim was wearing a beige trench coat, black pants, white shoes, and his sunglasses were next to him in a plastic bag. Ben had already tagged the glasses.

  “Find anything worth telling me?”

  “The victim is male, Caucasian, between forty to forty-five years of age, weighing approximately a hundred and eighty pounds. Oh, and the victim’s hands are missing.” Ben pointed at the stumps.

  Jo leaned down. “Were they removed before or after he was killed?”

  “If I had to make an educated guess, I would say before. But I could be wrong once I put him on my table and discover something else.”

  “It looks like it was done with a crude instrument,” Jo said, squinting. “Maybe a hacksaw?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Do we know who he is?”

  Ben shook his head. “I found no ID on him and I’ve got no hands to take fingerprints from. I’ll have to do a DNA analysis once I get back to the lab.”

  “Time of death?” Jo asked.

  “I would have to say ten to fourteen hours.”

  “This means he was murdered sometime last night and then brought here in the morning. How did the killer leave the body on the train without anyone noticing it?”

  Ben put his hands up. “That’s your job to find out. I just tell you how they died, not who killed them.”

  Jo pulled out her cell phone and snapped photos of the body from different angles.

  “I’ve got something for you,” Ben said.

  She turned to him.

  He walked over to his bag and pulled out a paperback. “I found it at a flea market. I think you’ll find it interesting.”

  “And why is that?”

  “It examines all the unsolved serial killings in the United States.”

  “Okay, but why are you giving it to me?”

  “There is a chapter on the Bridgeton Ripper.”

  Jo snatched the book from him. “How did I miss this in my research?” she said, flipping through the pages.

  “It was written twenty years ago. The publisher was a small time press. I don’t think it’s even in print anymore.”

  She found the chapter and looked up at him. “This is a great find.”

  He grinned. “I thought so too.”

  Jo had spent a major part of her adult life trying to find out who the Bridgeton Ripper was. Even though the killings occurred over twenty years ago, they had affected her on a personal level.

  Jo had read up on everything about the case. She wanted to leave no stone unturned. If there was any information out there that could help her solve the mystery, Jo wanted her hands on it.

  When Ben found out her obsession, he offered to help her. He was a self-proclaimed geek, and his specialty was death. It fascinated him to the point that he made conducting forensic examinations on human cadavers his profession.

  She stuffed the paperback in her jacket pocket. “Thanks, Ben. I really appreciate this.”

  He smiled. “No problemo.”

  “I’m done. You can move the body. Let me know what you find.”

  “Will do.”

  Jo flipped through the photos on her phone. She was about to exit the train when she stopped. She enlarged the image on the screen and then quickly turned back.

  “Hold on,” she said.

  Ben had already pulled off his latex gloves. “What is it?”

  “I think I saw something underneath the trench coat. Give me your gloves.”

  Ben handed them to her. “What did you see?” he asked, eagerly.

  She pulled the gloves on and said, “It doesn’t look like he is wearing a shirt underneath the coat.”

  “So? Why is that important?”

  “The weather is cool outside. You wouldn’t leave your home with nothing on underneath.”

  She slowly unbuttoned the coat and pulled it open.

  Ben’s mouth dropped.

  Carved into the victim’s chest were the words WHAT THE HANDS TOUCH. They looked like they had been etched using a chisel.

  SEVEN

  Jo came out of the train and found Walters standing by the platform wall. “Anything?” she asked, looking up from her phone.

  “The killer left a message for us,” Jo replied.

  “Where?”

  “On his body.”

  Walters’s steely gaze masked her inner thoughts. She had seen enough weird events in her career that nothing surprised her anymore.

  Jo said, “Ben will remove the body for further examination.”

  Walters nodded and then pointed toward the end of the platform. “Do you want to speak to the woman who found the body? We already have her statement. I can let her go.”

  Jo thought for a moment. “Give me two minutes.”

  She walked over to the bench where Tammy Lynn and Rick Jr. sat. Jo was already briefed on their names, and as she approached, she could tell they were anxious to leave. It must have been shocking to find a dead person while on your way to work, she thought.

  “I’m Special Agent Jo Pullinger,” Jo said. “How are you holding up?”

  The woman had her arm around her son. “We’re fine. How is he? I mean… he’s dead, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “What happened to his hands?” Tammy Lynn asked.

  “We don’t know, but we’re trying to find out. Did you notice anyone sitting next to him?”

  “I guess so. There were people coming in and out of the train all the time. If there’s even one empty seat, you take it, or else you’ll be standing for your entire ride.”

  “Was he alone when you boarded the train at Chester Station?”

  She looked down at her shoes, rallying her thoughts. “I don’t think so.”

  “Who was also there?”

  “An old lady. I remember her because she smiled at Rick Jr. But she got off a few stations later.”

  Jo frowned. If the old lady was already there, this meant whoever left the body was already gone.

  “Didn’t you find it odd that the man never once moved during your train ride?” Jo asked. Tammy Lynn shrugged. “In the morning you see people sleeping all the time. I nap on the train after I’ve completed my night shift at the factory. I honestly had no idea there was something wrong with him.” She then squeezed the boy. “I’m just worried for my son. My husband and I are going through a separation, and now, you know, he had to see this.”

  The boy had his head held low. He was focused on bouncing a ball.

  Jo got down on her knees and said, “How are you doing?”

  “Good. I guess,” he replied, not looking up
at her.

  “What did you see on the train?”

  “The man.”

  “What happened to the man?”

  “He’s dead.”

  “Does that make you scared?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “I don’t think you’re scared,” Jo said.

  He looked up at her.

  “I think you are very brave, you know that?”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “I am?”

  “Sure. I talked to people and they said you were not scared. You made sure to hold your mom’s hand, and you took care of her.” It was a white lie. Jo had not spoken to any of the passengers yet, but she did not want what happened tonight to affect the boy in any way. She had a niece of her own, and she would never want her to see what this boy had.

  Rick Jr. smiled at her.

  “You’re free to go,” Jo said.

  She watched as the mother and son left the platform, holding each other’s hand as they walked.

  Jo spotted a man in a transit uniform standing by the front of the train. She went up to him.

  “Are you the supervisor?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Dennis Wilmont.”

  “Special Agent Pullinger.” Jo showed Wilmont her credentials. “So what happened here?”

  “When the lady pulled the emergency lever, the engineer immediately stopped the train.”

  “Where is the engineer?” Jo asked.

  The supervisor waved over another man. He was also dressed in a transit uniform. “This is Mike Schwartz. Mike, tell the agent what you did.”

  The engineer cleared his throat. “The moment the alarm went off, I was in the tunnel between stations. The trains are equipped with automatic brakes in case of an emergency. I was able to slow the train down manually. Per protocol, I quickly walked the length of the train, going from car to car until I found the body. I didn’t touch it, but I could tell he was not alive. I quickly informed Dennis, and he instructed me to pull into the next station.”

  The supervisor spoke up. “When the train pulled up, we already had our officers waiting for it at the platform.” BTA also had security officers. They were trained by the Bridgeton Police but they did not carry a firearm. But they did have the authority to detain unruly passengers until the police arrived. “We emptied the train and closed off all exit and entry to the station. The passengers from the train have been detained until you guys tell us what to do.”