âBefore going, whoâs your boss now?â
âJack Folasky. The Chief of the Detective Bureau. Heâs a bonsai manic and canât stand cigarsâ smell.â Frank replied whispering.
âLet me know who the coroner is. I want to talk to him.â Stacie already had a plan in her mind. Knowing if the murderer was a male or female would have halved the investigation field. The coroner would have dissolved all her doubts.
âSure. Iâll give you his contacts as soon as I know something about him.â
Stacie got to work as soon as Frank turned to go away. First she poured some coffee from the jug that was right there in front of her. She had never been a real coffee drinker, but since she had come back from Geneva, she was appreciating its taste. She read some of the papers that Frank selected, but didnât find much. She spent more time thinking than reading. She thought about the murderâs details. A throat cut and an eye carved out. There was to expect that the killer wouldnât stop there. It didnât seem a crime destined to be isolated.
-6-
Jack Folasky was in his office attempting to fix some papers, when he saw Stacie coming in from the partially open door.
âWelcome back, Stacie. Frank was in anxiously waiting. I guess youâve already met, so I can spare you the details.â Folasky wasnât as fascinated as Douglas about Stacieâs investigative abilities. In addition, he didnât have a big estimation of women. Despite everything, he was used to give everyone a chance.
âIâm here most of all to know you better and understand if there are some suspects, some traces I can start following. Prosecutor Douglas gave me free reign and Iâm completely at your disposal.â
âStacie, Itâs clear to everyone that this murder preludes to something else. Because of this, all of my best men are with their eyes open in the worst streets of Flatbush neighborhoods. Unfortunately, from my experience, I think that the next victim will hardly be in that area. In the meantime, Frank and you can take any action. Keep me updated about any aspect, even apparently insignificant.â Although he doubted of Stacieâs abilities, Folasky couldnât refuse the expertise of the District Attorneyâs assistant.
âIâll try to give my aid to the investigation. I see that this story has some totally different edges from the one I previously dealt with, but my engagement wonât be different, thatâs for sure.â Stacie was lying. Surely she was scared of what was going to be. It wasnât about a missing person but a brutal murder. The difference was obvious. Moreover, she was entering that case in the worst state of mind possible, after Samâs death. Only a huge strength of character, united to her huge commitment to her job, could give her back full confidence in herself.
By the time Stacie got back home, it was late in the evening. The return had been definitely challenging. If only Sam was there with her, now she would have gone to bed tired but willing to go back to the Department deciding with Frank how to give the first breakthrough. Unfortunately she unavoidably dragged with her the pain from the separation with Sam, a pain that was going to accompany her over a very long period of time.
From the manholes was coming out so much steam that visibility was really reduced. As if it wasnât enough, the street lighting seemed to work worse than usual. It was really cold and that wool coat wasnât enough at all to shelter her. It was hard to move forward without risking to trip over something or simply catch the corner of a wall.
She was walking slowly putting her hands in front of her to make her way. She started hearing her shoes making a strange noise. She had the feeling of walking in mud. She started to have difficulties to move forward and didnât understand what was over the shroud of mist. A few more steps and just a little more light showed her the most horrible scene in which she really was. She was walking in a gigantic blood pool that went from one side to the other of the street. At least a centimeter of smoky liquid blood was covering the asphalt that she was hurrying so hard to traverse. She managed not to vomit and walked another couple meters until she turned the corner to understand where was that stuff coming from. She saw a black car with the motor off and the lights still on. From the driverâs window she could see a shadow. She forced herself to move forward in that terrible situation. The stink was so strong to get into the brain. She could feel the smell of blood inside her.
When she was two steps from the car, she stretched out a hand towards the shadow. A street-lamp lighted again in that very moment and lighted up what was Samâs face with the throat torn apart so that he had lost river of blood, that same blood that was rinsing down the whole street. Stacie didnât ât hold back a scream, although her hands were on her mouth. Then she backed off of a few steps but she fell disastrously on the ground swallowed by mist and blood.
In that very moment, Stacie opened her eyes and found herself on the floor next to the couch of her apartment swallowed by blankets. She took a few minutes to get over the state of panic which she had drowned in. Another nightmare. She burst into tears and stayed sit there for a while before deciding that having a shower was the only way to get that discomfort away. So she did.
-7-
Stacie that morning was showing off bags under her eyes worthy of the best insomnia.
âHi Frank, whatâs new?â
âGood morning, Stacie, you donât look well. Iâll try to cheer you up with some fresh news. I know well that, when you start working, whatever your discomfort is, then it goes away.â
âYouâre absolutely right. Tell me everything then.â
âI had a chat with the coroner, doctor Andrea Coretti. The weapon that provoked the mortal cut to the throat was a switchblade, while the eyeball could have been removed with the same knife used for the murder as well as with a fruit corer.â Frank was excited, not at all disgusted by those macabre particulars. He couldnât give any sense to the information received by the coroner, but he was sure that Stacie knew how to interpret them.
âWell, we know that the killer didnât use common weapons. He might not be a professional killer. Are there any fingerprints?â
âApparently not.â
âDid your coworker Michael give you any useful detail?â
âUnfortunately not.â Frank, as it usually happened to him when he was embarrassed, took his eyes off Stacie. After all, he didnât come with big news.
In that moment Officer Pet came to call the two of them.
âPlease, follow me in the Bossâ office. Thereâs something you two should know.â
Frank and Stacie looked at each other with a mixed expression of surprise and dismay.
âGuys, I called you because horror is spreading in the Brooklyn neighborhood. To people and newspapers the killer is known as the âCut-throatâ and, as predictable, the press wonât easily look away from a such a juicy prey...â
Besides Stacie and Frank, on Jack Folaskyâs office there were about twenty agents engaged at the Detective Bureau.
â... So, weâre in front of two priorities now. The Cut-throat and the pressure of the public opinion. I demand maximum commitment. Sergeant John Cutter will help with the investigation together with Frank Berrimow and obviously Stacie Scott, DAâs assistant.â
Stacie walked out of that room thoughtful. The time available wasnât never enough in those cases, especially if there was the fear that another murder could happen.
Frank got close to her just in that moment and tried to change the atmosphere that was definitely