American Devil by Oliver Stark Page B

again. It remained horribly still. The harsh fluorescent lights of the underground garage lent the corpse a greenish glow. The only movement was a couple of insects buzzing around her chest. Harper thought it looked like the killer had opened up her torso for a reason. Another trophy. Not only that, but he wanted everyone to see what he’d taken. Harper looked up at his partner. ‘The girl’s heart is missing,’ he said.
    Eddie walked away. It was too much to think about. Alone, Harper sat on the bottom step and looked at the corpse. So what happened to you? Her hands were so caked in blood that he couldn’t tell if she’d put up a fight or not. Did you come down here of your own free will? What did he do? Threaten you with his knife to keep quiet and go along with his plans? Did he make you undress - promise to let you go? Or did he sap you and drag you here while you were out cold? Did you know this bastard?
    Harper looked carefully at the marks on the floor. The ground in the arch was wet from a leak that seemed to come from a crack in the concrete above. There was a layer of black carbon from traffic fumes which scuffed up easily and left light marks. Harper looked at the pattern of marks at the bottom of the steps. Two long straight lines extended about forty centimetres from the bottom of the step. Heel marks as the killer had dragged his victim across the ground holding her upper body. That meant he’d probably sapped her. Harper saw another set of marks. Three oblong shapes scratched around as if looking for the right spot. The tripod, no doubt. Whoever it was, he had filmed or photographed these gruesome final scenes.
    Harper continued to think it through. He hit you and dragged you to the arch. Then he turned you. The heel marks twist and then stop. He laid you flat out here, half in view. Why? Why leave your body visible? Wasn’t that dangerous? Why not pull you all under the arch? Was that because he wanted to see what he was doing? Needs the buzz of seeing your face as he hurt you?
    Harper looked carefully for any other scuff marks. There were none. He looked at the shallow puddles of blood that had pooled across the concrete. He peered into the darkness of the arch with a flashlight. More blood was thick across the back wall and a few drips hung above him. Harper was no blood-pattern expert, but the arterial spray was unmistakable. The killer would’ve left the scene covered in her blood. There were flecks of blood-covered paint under her fingernails and scratch marks at the base of the wall. He raped you and mutilated you out here in the light while you were semi-conscious, then pulled you inside.
    Harper leaned across to the wall. The scratch marks were all in the same place. How did he keep your arms from moving? He’d held her down, somehow. Harper imagined the scene, letting the images pass through his mind as a mass of sudden, bloody fragments. He had his knees on your arms as he cut you, didn’t he? He sat there, muffling your screams and watching you real close.
    It was nearly an hour before Harper finally emerged to allow the Crime Scene Unit to get the body bagged and out to the lab. He was just leaving when he spotted something else. It was easy to miss, written faintly in yellow chalk with part of the lettering removed by the dripping from the ledge above. He couldn’t read it as it was, so he called the photographer down to get some good shots. Then he went back to the team.
    ‘So what does the clairvoyant say?’ said Williamson with a sneer that showed off his gums.
    ‘She was tortured to death down there while shoppers were returning to their cars.’ Harper looked at Williamson hard. ‘It’s unbelievable.’
    Nate Williamson felt it too. ‘No ligature this time. She didn’t survive the surgery, is my guess.’
    Harper nodded his head. ‘Yeah, I agree. He hit an artery and it will have killed her more quickly, thank God. But listen, the arch down there is large enough to conceal