Blue Labyrinth Read Free Page A

signs of violence, no drugs or alcohol in your son’s system; he died of a broken neck perhaps five hours before you found him—at least, that’s the preliminary assessment, pending the autopsy. According to Ms. Greene’s statement, it took her about fifteen seconds to answer the summons. So we have a murderer—or murderers—who takes your son’s life, binds him up—not necessarily in that order—props him against your front door while in a state of rigor mortis; rings your doorbell; gets back into the Town Car; and manages to get several blocks before you yourself could effect pursuit. How did he, or they, move so quickly?”
    “The crime was flawlessly planned and executed.”
    “Well, perhaps, but could it also be that you were in shock—perfectly understandable, given the circumstances—and that you reacted less quickly than indicated in your statement?”
    “No.”
    Angler considered this terse answer. He glanced at Sergeant Slade—as usual, silent as a Buddha—and then back again at Pendergast. “Then we have the, ah, dramatic nature of the crime itself. Bound with ropes, planted at your front door—it displays certain hallmarks of a gangland-style killing. Which brings me to my main line of questioning, and again, excuse me if some of these are intrusive or offensive. Was your son involved in any mob activity?”
    Agent Pendergast returned Angler’s gaze with that same featureless, unreadable expression. “I have no idea what my son was involved in. As I indicated in my statement, my son and I were estranged.”
    Angler turned a page of the report. “The CSU, and my owndetective squad, went over the crime scene with great care. The scene was remarkable for its lack of obvious evidence. There were no latents, either full or partial, save those of your son. No hair or fiber, again save that of your son. His clothes were brand new—and of the most common make—and on top of that, his deceased body had been carefully washed and dressed. We retrieved no bullet casings from the highway, as the shots must have been fired from within the vehicle. In short, the perps were familiar with crime scene investigation techniques and were exceptionally careful not to leave evidence. They knew exactly what they were doing. I’m curious, Agent Pendergast—speaking from a professional capacity, how would you account for such a thing?”
    “Again, I would merely repeat that this was a meticulously planned crime.”
    “The leaving of the body at your doorstep suggests the perpetrators were sending you a message. Any idea what that message might be?”
    “I am unable to speculate.”
    Unable to speculate
. Angler looked at Agent Pendergast more searchingly. He’d interviewed plenty of parents who had been devastated by the loss of a child. It wasn’t uncommon for the sufferers to be numb, in shock. Their answers to his questions were often halting, disorganized, incomplete. But Pendergast wasn’t like that at all. He appeared to be in complete possession of his faculties. It was as if he did not want to cooperate, or had no interest in doing so.
    “Let’s talk about the, ah, mystery of your son,” Angler said. “The only evidence he is, in fact, your son is your statement to that effect. He is in none of the law enforcement databases we’ve checked: not CODIS, not IAFIS, not NCIC. He has no record of birth, no driver’s license, no Social Security number, no passport, no educational record, and no entry visa into this country. There was nothing in his pockets. Pending the DNA check against our database, from all we’ve learned it appears your son, essentially, never existed. In your statement, you said he was born in Brazil and was not a U.S. citizen. But he’s not a Brazilian citizen, either, and that country has no record ofhim. The town you indicate he grew up in doesn’t seem to exist, at least officially. There’s no evidence of his exit from Brazil or entry into this country. How do you explain