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Morris struggled to concentrate. “Well, there was this… screaming. Like an animal. And breaking glass. Then something came rushing out from the darkness…” His voice trailed off.
“Something? It wasn’t a person?”
Morris’s eyes slid from side to side. “It was just, like, a screaming, rushing shape.”
Hayward turned to another of the officers. “Take Mr. Morris downstairs and have Detective Sergeant Whittier question him further.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Two EMTs came into view from behind a mountain of stacked boxes, pushing a stretcher with an enormous, groaning mound on top.
“What’s his state?” she asked.
“Lacerated with what looks like a crude knife, or maybe a claw.”
“Claw?”
The technician shrugged. “Some of the cuts are pretty ragged. Luckily, none of them reached vital organs-one advantage to being fat. Some blood loss, shock… He’ll recover.”
“Can he talk?”
“You’re welcome to give it a shot,” said an EMT. “He’s been sedated.”
Hayward leaned over. The guard’s damp, bulging face stared at the ceiling. The smell of liquor, formaldehyde, and dead fish assaulted her nostrils.
She spoke gently. “Wilson Bulke?”
His eyes flickered toward her, away again.
“I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
No clear response.
“Mr. Bulke, did you see your attacker?”
The eyes gyrated in their sockets, and his wet mouth opened. “The… face.”
“What face? What did it look like?”
“Twisted… Oh, God…”
He groaned, mumbled something unintelligible.
“Can you be more specific, sir? Male or female?”
A whimper, a brief shake of the head.
“One, or more than one?”
“One,” came the croaked reply.
Hayward looked at the EMT. He shrugged.
She turned, gestured to a detective waiting nearby. “Stay with him on the way to the hospital. If he becomes more coherent, get a complete description of his attacker. I want to know what we’re up against.”
“Yes, Captain.”
She straightened up, looked around at the small group of police. “Whoever or whatever this is, we’ve got it cornered. I want us to go in. Now.”
“Shouldn’t we call for a SWAT team?” said Visconti.
“It would take hours before a SWAT team could gear up and get over here. And their rules of engagement are so ponderous they’d slow everything down. There was fresh blood on that wallet-there’s a chance Lipper might still be alive and a hostage.” She looked around. “I want you three to come with me: Sergeant Visconti, Officer Martin, and Detective Sergeant O’Co
There was a silence. The three officers exchanged glances.
“Is there a problem? It’s four against one.”
More hesitant looks.
She sighed. “Don’t tell me you boys have bought into the rumors the museum guards are spreading? What, you think we’re going to get jammed up by a mummy?”
Visconti colored, and by way of answer removed his weapon and gave it a quick check. The others followed suit.
“Turn off your radios, cell phones, pagers, everything. I don’t want to be creeping up on the perp and suddenly hear Beethoven’s Fifth coming from your BlackBerry.”
They nodded.
Hayward took out a photocopy she’d requested of the attic layout of the museum and pressed it flat on a box. “Okay. This section of the attic is divided into sixteen narrow rooms-here-divided into two long lines under parallel roofs, with a co
She paused, looked at them each in turn. “We advance in pairs: quick observation of each room and retreat, then move and cover. I’ll partner with O’Co
They all nodded.
“I’ll lead.”
When none of the three protested or made the usual faux-gallant comments about its being a job for a man, Hayward took it as a sign that women were finally being accepted in the force. Or maybe the three were just scared silent.
They stepped carefully through the crime scene, Hayward leading, O’Co
Hayward and O’Co
Empty. More shelves had been thrown over, the glass littering the floor, filling the room with the choking stench of preservative. These jars seemed to have been filled with small rodents. A pile of papers had been dashed about and numerous stored objects flung helter-skelter. It reminded her, in a way, of the preliminary autopsy report on DeMeo: the killer had rooted about haphazardly among his internal organs, ripping and pulling stuff out with a kind of crazy, disorganized violence. A sick kind of vandalism.
She crept up to the next door, waited until the others were in position, ducked around for a visual. Another room, like the previous, completely trashed. One of the dingy skylights had been broken, but the bars above it were still intact. No escape that way.
She froze, suddenly listening. A faint sound was echoing back from the dark attics beyond.
“Hush!” she whispered. “Hear that?”
It was a strange kind of stumbling, limping gait: a dragging sound, followed by an unsettling thump: Draaag-thump. Draaag-thump.
Hayward moved into the next room, almost pitch-dark now. Pulling out her flashlight, she used it to illuminate the dark corners. The room contained thousands of plaster faces-death masks-staring at them from every square foot of wall surface. Some of the masks showed signs of recent damage: someone, apparently the killer, had slashed at the masks, gouging out their eyes, leaving smears of blood everywhere.
The lights were off in the next room. Crouching beside the door frame of the next room, Hayward gestured for the men behind to stay put.
She leaned forward, listening intently. The strange sound had ceased: the killer was waiting, listening. She sensed, rather than knew, that he was near: very near.
She could feel the level of tension within their little group rising. Better to keep going: the less thinking the better.
Hayward ducked forward, swept the room with her flashlight, then ducked back again as quickly as she could. Something was crouching in the middle of the next room-naked, bestial, bloody… but definitely human, and surprisingly small and thin.
She gestured to the others, held one finger upward, then rotated it slowly toward the doorway: one perp, in the room beyond.
There was a tense moment as they gathered themselves. And then Hayward spoke in a firm, clear voice: “Police officers. Do not move. We’re armed and we’ve got you covered. Walk to the doorway with your hands up.”
She heard a scrambling noise, a thumping and banging like a beast shambling on all fours.
“He’s ru
Gun drawn, Hayward ducked around the corner just in time to see a dark figure scuttle into the darkness of the room beyond. This was followed by a tremendous crash.