Free The God Hunter by Tim Lees Page A

another killing, back in city. Intervals go down each time. Last night was seventh.”
    â€œAll in the same hotel . . . ?”
    â€œClose, at first. Then wider. Two in street. Two in apartments; no signs of forced entry. One in parked car. This last: kitchen worker, restaurant, left alone to clean up. His turn for dish duty.”
    â€œLucky him.”
    â€œExcuse me?”
    â€œNothing.” I glanced warily at the scene on the screen. It was like a puzzle picture; a jumble of unpleasant, ugly shapes that made no sense at all till you looked closely, and even then, they didn’t make a lot.
    I sat back, shook my head to clear it. “These aren’t murders,” I said. “These are—­I don’t know. I’m not a doctor. But these are—­it’s an illness of some kind. Some kind of plague or something. It’s public health, not a police matter—­”
    She simply looked at me, expressionless.
    I waved my arms. “It’s like—­I don’t know, maybe it’s some kind of fast-­acting AIDS, or Ebola, something like that. Or a new drug. Like crack, or, or . . . You can’t murder someone so they look like this. It isn’t possible.”
    â€œWe have good pathologist, Mr. Copeland. We are not backwards.”
    â€œI wasn’t trying to suggest that. Seriously, though . . .”
    â€œI agree, yes. Is very serious. And we are promised help from Registry, with special expertise. Is this too serious? Too difficult? Do we look elsewhere?”
    Time to pick a fight and leave. Tell Shailer I did what I could, the Hungarians were unco-­operative, blah blah blah. But I hesitated just a bit too long, and Detective Ganz took it for assent.
    â€œThere is evidence of sexual assault in five of seven bodies. Perpetrator has no preference for gender; anus and vagina both penetrated. Lack of genetic material suggests perhaps implement was used. Or man wears condom. Interesting, if so. He is frightened of infection? Who knows? Puncture wounds to abdomen, torso, and limbs; occasionally head. You will see these if you watch more closely.” She paused a moment, sounding like one of my old-­school teachers. Aside from the subject matter, anyway. “At some point, close to end, liquids are drained from body. In three cases, this is very thorough; even the colon appears dried and shriveled. Our ‘Bloodsucker’ is misnomer, but we let it stand. No vampire, Mr. Copeland. No superstition. Flesh is dried out, drained. Bone is weakened.
    â€œNo link apparent between victims, though all alone at time of death. Opportunist, we suppose. No clues. Like they are murdered by a ghost, Mr. Copeland. I am being humorous here, you understand. But not fully. There are no fingerprints, no traces. Like movie film Invisible Man . Here is invisible man. He comes, he enters without violence, commits murder no one sees or hears, and goes again.” She folded one hand on the other. “Is this the sort of thing you deal with, Mr. Copeland? I would be very happy if it were. Very happy. If you tell me, ‘He is one point seven meters tall, has blonde hair and a scar upon his face,’ perhaps? That would be very much appreciated. Can you do this, Mr. Copeland? Can you? I would welcome it a great deal.”
    She held me with a long gaze. Then she sighed and lit another cigarette.
    I said, “I don’t see why I’m here, to be honest. I’m not a detective or a medical man. I’ll offer any help I can, of course, but, really . . .”
    â€œYou are here,” she said, emitting a long trail of smoke, “because Mr. Shailer gives much money to my boss that I accept your help. So, Mr. Copeland: will you help me? I ask as courtesy, you understand. If you say no, is good by me. Yes? No? OK?”

 
    CHAPTER 14
    PHONE
    I t was a warm day. There was a hint of something chemical in the air, a smell like