The Border: The Complete Series Read online

  With that, he took another sip of beer and then sat, quietly, staring into space as the fairy lights ran through their rotation above him. Slowly, over the course of several minutes, his smile began to fade, millimeter by millimeter, until all that was left was a dark, pained look in his eyes.

  Part Two

  Prologue

  Nine years ago

  They stood in silence, neither of them knowing what to say. With the morning sun having barely yet broken the horizon, Caitlin Somers' dead body was still mostly in darkness, with just hints of light on some of the curves and edges. She'd begun to cool as the day had begun to heat up.

  Her face.

  Her bloodied neck.

  Her chest, with a glistening red hole right above the heart, where her ribs had been punched away.

  “I, uh...” Alex began to say, before falling quiet.

  Jane tried to think of something appropriate, but nothing came. She just stared at the dead girl's hand, which was hanging down its fingers slightly curled, as she'd been about to make a fist. Or open one. Either way, there were pockets of dew on Caitlin's dead palm.

  As if he'd suddenly remembered that he should, Alex removed his cap.

  Finally, Jane knew she'd have to be the one to speak. “Boss, we -”

  Before she could finish, Alex turned and put a hand over her eyes. “I don't think you should see this,” he said roughly.

  With his hand pressed against her face, she frowned. “Sir?”

  “It's too... despicable. Too horrible.”

  She waited, figuring he was making some weird, badly-timed joke, but no. No, he meant it.

  “Sir,” she said finally. “I think I'll be okay.”

  “Jesus Christ, this is a small town.”

  “Um... Sir?”

  “It's your first week on the job,” he continued. “You're not ready. Something like this could traumatize you for life.”

  “Well...” She paused, not certain whether she was allowed to move his hand away. “I think... I really think I'll be okay, Sir.”

  “I want you to go home.”

  “Sir?”

  “I want you to turn around, get in the car, and drive back to town. Don't look back, don't even look in the wing mirrors. This is too horrific for you to witness.”

  She paused again. “With all due respect,” she said finally, “I'd like to stay, Sir. I think I can handle it.” She waited for him to reply. “Please, Sir. I'm not a... delicate little... sunflower.”

  “Trust me,” he said firmly.

  “Um... I...”

  “Turn around,” he continued, using his other hand to grab her shoulder and gently turn her. “You can stay, but you can't look. Keep your back to the horror.” He sighed, and then muttered something about this being the reason young women shouldn't be allowed to join the police.

  Finally, he moved his hand from in front of her eyes.

  “I'm going to go take a closer look,” he told her.

  “Um. Okay.”

  She stared back toward town, listening as Alex crunched his way across the frosty grass.

  “Jesus,” she heard him say after a moment. “Lord, why...”

  “What -” she began, before pausing. “I mean... What's it like up close, Sir?”

  No reply.

  Figuring she should wait, she began to count the seconds, but finally she realized she couldn't hear anything. She wanted to turn and look, but she was worried about disobeying her boss. After all, she felt she had to obey every order he gave her, even the ones that seemed a little... irrational.

  “Sir?” she said finally.

  No reply.

  She waited again, before slowly, cautiously turning. She was ready, in case he barked at her to stop, to look away again, but finally she saw that the dead girl was still in the tree's nook, and that Alex had his back turned to the corpse and was leaning against one of the branches, with a hand over his eyes.

  “Sir?” she asked. “Are you okay?”

  Turning to her, he paused for a moment, before nodding.

  “Can I come over?” she asked.

  Another pause, and then another nod.

  Making her way quickly across the grass, she passed Alex and made straight for the girl.

  “She looks almost peaceful,” she said after a moment. “Almost... arranged.”

  “Arranged?”

  “Like a doll.” Staring wide-eyed at the dead girl, Jane felt a faint heaving sensation in the pit of her belly. “That's probably not right, though. That's probably just me reading too much into it.”

  “She's been stabbed,” Alex replied, still not turning to look.

  “Multiple times,” Caitlin muttered, leaning closer to the body. “Someone's made an unholy mess of her, Sir. I'm counting a dozen wounds, maybe more, and...”

  Suddenly she noticed beads of morning dew on the girl's eyes. She stared for a moment, meeting Caitlin's still gaze, before looking down at the hole that seemed to have been punched into her chest.

  “This wound on her chest,” she said finally. “This one isn't a stab wound. Whoever did this, it looks like they opened her up. Come and see, Sir.”

  “Doctor Tomlin'll take a look and work out exactly what's happened.”

  Taking a flashlight from her pocket, Jane leaned across the body and shone a beam of light directly into the largest wound. “I think...” She squinted, trying to get a better look. “Jesus, I think the cavity's empty. I think he...” She turned to Alex. “I think he took her heart out.”

  “No, I doubt that.”

  She frowned. “You doubt it?”

  “Very much.”

  She paused. “With all due respect, Sir... Why do you doubt it?”

  “Well, why would he take her heart?”

  “I don't know,” she replied, “but I think he did.”

  “Seems like a weird thing to do.”

  “Just... Come and take a look, Sir. There's basically a gap in here, where her heart should be.”

  With his back to her still, he shook his head.

  “There is, Sir. If you just -”

  “If he'd taken her heart,” he continued, “the wound'd be more to the side, not in the center.”

  “Actually, Sir, the heart's more or less in the center of the chest, it's just a tad to one side.” She turned back and looked into the wound. “I'm telling you, her heart's missing.”

  “Well, we'll see what Doctor Tomlin says when he gets here.”

  “He's going to tell you her heart's been taken,” she continued, looking at the thin red slits across the dead girl's body, where the knife had been driven in again and again. “Do you think there's a pattern?” she asked after a moment. “The way the wounds are spaced out, it doesn't seem very random.” Turning, she watched as Alex made his way to the car and opened the trunk. “Sir, I think it might be worth considering the possibility that this was a ritualistic killing. I don't think it was a frenzied attack.”

  “We'll see,” he replied, pulling some tarpaulin out of the trunk and carrying it over. “Outta the way there.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I'm gonna cover her up.”

  “Shouldn't you...” She paused. “I mean, wouldn't that maybe disturb the scene? It might make it harder for us to get some forensic results.”

  “Can't leave her in the open like this,” he replied, “it's undignified.”

  “But -”

  “Step back, Jane. I understand that you're eager, and that's good, but trust me, this is the way we do things around here. I knew Caitlin Somers from the day she was born, she was a decent girl, and it's not right for her to be out in the open like this.” He looked down at Caitlin's face for a moment. “I remember her coming into the station sometimes with her father and just smiling at me. I used to give her candy, and her eyes'd light up like it was the greatest gift anyone could get. She was such a sweet little kid.”

  “She was terrified,” Jane replied. “Look at her face. What
ever she saw as she died, she -”

  Before she could finish, Alex pulled the tarpaulin over the body, covering it completely. In the cold morning air, the cloth seemed to crinkle more loudly than usual.

  “Have you heard from the hospital?” she asked. “How's Joe doing?”

  “Touch and go. He's in surgery right now, but they think he has a fair chance of making it.”

  “And his injuries -”

  “He was all diced up in the belly,” Alex replied. “Real frantic.”

  “So that's different,” she pointed out. “I mean, it's like the killer really took his time with Caitlin and arranged her out here, but with Joe he just wanted to get him out of the way as fast as possible.” She reached out to pull the tarpaulin away. “Maybe if -”

  “Not now,” Alex said, grabbing her hand and pulling it away. “Later. Let's give the girl some peace.”

  “I just want to check whether -”

  “Not now,” he said again, before sighing. “I'm sure Doctor Tomlin will do everything that needs doing, and we'll wait for his report. Let's just... Let's just take a moment to contemplate what happened here. A young girl lost her life and there's a killer out there, and we have to find that man and bring him to justice.” He paused, as a tear rolled down his cheek. “And we will, Jane. Mark my words, as God is my witness, we will find the bastard who did this and we will make him pay for committing an act of such barbarity.”

  They stood in silence for a moment, as a light rain began to fall, tapping against the tarpaulin.

  “You like anyone for this so far?” she asked finally.

  “I've got a few ideas,” he replied. “Yeah, one or two. But right now, Jane, let's focus on what has been lost. A young, vibrant, bright girl with her future ahead of her, and now it's been cruelly snatched away. We need to think about how to help the community deal with this pain. They're all gonna find out what happened as the morning progresses, and we have to shepherd them and show them the light.”

  “Sure,” she said, “but... I mean, we're cops, right? Not priests.”

  “Jane, we're -”

  She waited for him to reply, but he seemed lost in thought for a moment, as a light rain began to fall all around them.

  I

  “It's raining, boss. Just started as I was coming in the door.”

  Today

  Looking up from the paperwork on his desk, Alex watched as Jane made her way across the office with a paper bag from the local diner. She was smiling, he noticed; she always smiled when she arrived.

  “I know you said you didn't want anything,” she continued, stopping in front of him and reaching into the bag, “but I couldn't just leave you out entirely. Didn't feel right.” Taking a bagel from the bag, she set it down on the desk. “It's cinnamon. That's the type you like, isn't it?”

  “It is,” he replied, trying to force a smile as he took the bagel and set it aside. “Thank you, I'll eat it later.”

  “I was thinking,” she continued, heading to her own desk, “that maybe we need to start going door to door, start asking around and see if anyone saw anything on the night Mel was killed. I mean, someone has to have noticed something being a little off, don't they? Something like this can't happen without creating ripples in the rest of town, and we should get moving fast, so everything's still fresh in people's minds. I read a study last week that said there's an almost 50% drop-off in factor recognition after the first twenty-four hours.”

  “Factor recognition?”

  “The ability to recall a memory that seemed insignificant at the time, but which might take on new meaning when it's paired with information that has been subsequently acquired.”

  He stared at her for a moment. “You don't say?”

  She nodded. “That's why we need to get out and ask people what they remember.”

  “Maybe,” he muttered, looking down at a photo of Mel's dead body, taken during the autopsy when her chest was open. “You can do that, if you think it might help. I want to sit here and sift through things a little longer. Get it all straight in my head. There's something to be said for a slower, more old-fashioned approach.” Setting the photo down, he picked up another, this time showing the wound through which Mel's heart had been extracted.

  “What do you think he did with it?” Jane asked after a moment.

  “Did with what?”

  “The heart.”

  “I have no idea,” he replied. “What kind of monster would do something like this?”

  “We need to think like him,” she continued.

  Frowning, he turned to her.

  “We need to think like the killer,” she continued, reaching into one of her desk drawers and pulling out a psychology textbook, which she slid over to him. “Have you read Schoepenhauser, Kallerman and Turister?”

  “Have I -” Alex frowned. “Who, what and who now?”

  “They're three really forward-thinking forensic psychologists from Mannheim in Germany,” she explained. “They bring a Jungian approach to criminal psychology, and one of the things they talk about in that book, in chapter eight I think, is the need to view the crime through the lens of the killer's mind.”

  Alex paused. “What lens?”

  “We need to get into his mind and try to see the world the way he sees it,” she continued. “I've read around the subject extensively, it's a bit like profiling, except you have to open yourself up to all these other possibilities and try to work out the thought processes that someone like this might follow. You have to get into the killer's skin and try to think they way they think.”

  “How in God's name is a sane person supposed to do that?” he asked, clearly horrified by the idea.

  “You just have to use your imagination. Like, imagine yourself standing over Mel, having just cut her heart out.” Taking an apple from her bag, she held it up. “It's still warm,” she continued, “and there's blood everywhere, and she's dead. What are you going to do with the heart? On a purely practical level, I mean.”

  “Jesus,” Alex replied, “I don't know. I don't want to think like that. It's not right.”

  “He put her into the dumpster,” she added, staring at the apple, “which would have required two hands, and most likely he took the heart out first, so where did he put the heart while he was lifting the body?”

  “I don't know,” Alex replied. “Does it matter?”

  “He must have put it somewhere,” she continued. “It's a practical consideration. Did he just put it on the ground for a moment? Did he put it in a bag? This guy obviously knew he was going to take the heart, but -” She paused. “And why did he put the body in the dumpster? He displayed Caitlin Somers almost like a piece of art, like he was proud of her, but then he tossed Mel into the dumpster like he just wanted to get rid of her as quickly as possible. Doesn't that strike you as being a little odd, like he went from one extreme to the other?”

  She waited for a reply, but Alex seemed lost in thought, staring at the photos on his desk as if he hadn't heard a word she'd said, or as if he was trying not to hear.

  “Are you okay?” she asked finally.

  No reply.

  “Boss?”

  “Huh?” Turning to her, he frowned. “What?”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Me? Hell, yeah. Why wouldn't I be okay?”

  “You just seem...” She paused, before realizing that there was no point trying to dig too deep, not with a man like Alex Gordon. “Nothing. I just thought you seemed a little out of it, that's all. But don't worry, I'll just get on with my ideas, and you get on with yours, and I'm sure we'll... I dunno, meet in the middle, something like that.”

  “I'm just thinking about the son-of-a-bitch who did this,” he replied. “Mark my words, as God is my witness, we're going to...” His voice trailed off for a moment. “I mean, we'll find him. We'll get him.”

  “Of course we will,” she told him.

  “We have better tests we can run,” he continued, “more avenues we
can explore. The bastard slipped through our fingers last time, but now...” He stared at the photo of Mel for a moment longer. “Nine years,” he added finally. “Nine long years. What the hell has he been doing all that time? And why did he suddenly decide to kill again? Why now? Why her?”

  “That's what I was wondering about too,” she replied. “Maybe if we -”

  “I'll be back soon,” he said suddenly, getting to his feet and heading to the door.

  “I was hoping we could -”

  “Later, Jane. You get on with your Mannheim... German... books.”

  Before she could ask where he was going, he was out of the room. Listening to the sound of him heading along the hallway, she realized something was definitely wrong with Alex, even if he wouldn't admit it. After a moment, she got to her feet and headed over to his desk, to take another look at the photos from the crime scene. As she did so, lost in thought, she took a bite from her apple.

  ***

  “Jesus,” Alex muttered a few minutes later as he lit a cigarette in the yard behind the police station. Taking a long, slow drag, he looked up at the dull gray sky and tried to empty his head of all the thoughts that had been bursting through, one after another, since Mel's body had been found.

  “Don't need a bunch of German psychologists telling me how to do my job,” he muttered, feeling a little antsy as he thought back to everything Jane had said. “Just need to focus on the goddamn case.”

  After a moment, he closed his eyes.

  “Calm,” he whispered. “Peace.”

  In the distance, a lorry was reversing. He could hear the hum of morning traffic, too, and a moment later someone sounded a car horn. Light rain was falling, but not too much. Everything seemed normal and calm, and he lost his thoughts for a moment in the tranquility of it all. A perfect town, running perfectly, with everyone safe and happy. It was possible, he told himself. He could deliver.

  “Don't you think she might be right?” a female voice asked suddenly.

  He froze, not wanting to acknowledge the words.

  “You should be in there,” the voice continued, “working with her, not feeling sorry for yourself. It's been nine years and you still haven't caught the man who did this to me. One hundred and eight months, more than three thousand days, more than seventy thousand hours. Don't take this the wrong way, Mr. Gordon, but what the hell have you been doing all that time?”