Body of Lies Read Free Page B

grizzly cop she’d been told came from homicide, looked back at her with something close to admiration in his eyes.
    She sighed and fastened a glare on McKay. “Walter Thorpe was convicted of committing a series of push-in rapes in the Wakefield section of the Bronx. He didn’t murder anybody. His victims were all women in their early thirties, young mothers, not teenagers, and certainly not underage prostitutes. Thorpe didn’t even use a weapon.”
    She paused, inhaling. This was preposterous. Thorpe was so mild-mannered none of his victims had required medical attention for as much as an abrasion. The one woman who’d fended off one of his attacks had done so by merely screaming. How did such a man, without any apparent provocation, morph into a killer so vicious as to mutilate his victims while they were still alive?
    Then again, she hadn’t seen Walter since before his conviction. Prison changed a man, most often for the worse. Maybe she was only seeing what she wanted to see, but she suspected that these men around her hid something from her, making vision into this case more difficult.
    Whatever bombshell they possessed, she wished they’d hurry up and drop it already instead of playing head games designed to make her look bad. “What do you know that I don’t?”
    McKay smiled, a feral expression that didn’t surprise her, but unnerved her, as she supposed he intended. “Would you change your mind knowing that both the rear and side view mirrors were smashed on each of the vehicles in which the bodies were discovered?”
    She lifted one eyebrow. That was all the reaction she’d allow them to see. Thorpe had smashed the bedroom mirrors in each of his victim’s homes. When questioned why he committed the rapes, he answered that the mirror, not he, had committed the crimes. She supposed that beat out having little dogs or demons or pygmy statues telling you what to do. But it had been his semen found in one the women’s bodies, so that was that.
    A dislike of mirrors was hardly a unique phobia among criminals. A mirror could be another pair of eyes, watching, recording, judging. It could stand for truth or self-reflection. If the police had gone looking for a rapist with a similar m.o. they wouldn’t have had to go far. When Thorpe had been apprehended, the Daily News ran his picture on the front page under a misquoted caption: THE MIRROR MADE HIM DO IT .
    Still, she was certain McKay had something else. He didn’t wait long to prove he wouldn’t disappoint.
    â€œYour boy’s getting sloppy. We found his fingerprint on the seat-release button—a six-point match for his right middle finger.”
    Alex sat back, saying nothing. McKay’s admission confirmed a host of things, primarily that they had been looking at Thorpe before they ever found the fingerprint. But a six-point match wasn’t enough to conclusively prove anything. They needed more, which she supposed was where she came in. Given the fact that she hadn’t seen the man in more than six years, she doubted she could offer up much information.
    â€œIf that’s true, what do you want from me?”
    â€œAccording to the super in his building, Walter Thorpe disappeared a week before the first girl turned up. He called your office three times in the month before he went missing. Each of the calls was less than a minute in duration.”
    Alex shook her head. She’d received no such calls that she was aware of. All calls were logged in by the secretary in the office where she worked. She didn’t miss McKay’s implication either. Calls of such a short duration implied that Thorpe had been leaving messages for her to call him. She wasn’t sure whether McKay believed she’d spoken to Thorpe or blown off his calls, but she suspected neither answer would suit him. In any event, he hadn’t called her, so she really couldn’t tell McKay