Page 48 of So Normal

The killer watched. He watched them after he staged them. He watched them so he could see people ignoring them the way they ignored him. Those crowds that gathered around the bodies camouflaged him, allowed him to watch without being noticed.

So, the killer was an employee who was personally insulted by the victims. He killed them, left their bodies, and watched while thousands of people passed them by. He watched them when they were discovered and watched as everyone treated them the same way he believed they treated him.

But which of the employees could be the killer? She had seen several of them, dozens of them, in fact, gathered around Richardson’s body. All of them seemed to be as morbidly fascinated as the passengers. She recalled the janitor she had seen watching the commotion around Richardson’s body the other day. He could be the killer but so could any of the other janitors, maintenance workers, bathroom attendants, and ticket-takers that also gathered around.

They were on the right track. The killer was an employee, but it would take weeks, possibly months to investigate and rule out everyone who wasn’t the killer—weeks or months for him to figure out an exit plan. They could arrange to sit in on exit interviews, but they couldn’t do anything about the people who just left with no notice, a common occurrence at any low-wage job.

They needed to find him soon, before the noose tightened to the point that they scared him off.

She stood and led Turk back into the building. She headed to the security office, and when she arrived, the desk officer sighed heavily and said, “Do you want me to just email you the footage? I can’t keep giving up my seat so you guys can watch the same footage over and over. For God’s sake, it’s like you want him to get away with another murder.”

Faith didn’t have time to argue with him or to feel offended. “Move over,” she said, flashing her ID, “you can file a complaint later if you want.”

He heaved another sigh, then slowly got up from the chair and sidled out of the room. Faith sat and quickly pulled up footage from the day Chester McIlhenny was killed. She identified a janitor picking up trash near where Chester sat, the world oblivious to the fact that he was dead. She watched him, but he showed no special interest in Chester and moved on after cleaning the area around the bench.

He returned to the platform several more times, but so did two other janitors. A ticketing booth sat at the corner of the frame, staffed by the same three ticket-takers. Two maintenance workers checked an electrical panel nearby, probably preparing for the launch of twenty-four-hour service that night. That was eight suspects already. Of those eight, the three janitors and the three ticket-takers remained when Kylie Bonaparte screamed as Chester’s body rolled forward off the bench.

The footage of Richardson’s death revealed a similar issue. There were over two dozen employees among the crowd of hundreds this time, nine of which had remained in the area throughout Richardson’s brief tenure as an unknown dead body. Five of those nine were among the six that worked the platform the day Chester died.

And that was only what the camera picked up. Who knew what the camera had missed? Richardson’s body wasn’t even on camera. All Faith could see was the crowd that gathered around it. If Faith’s experience was indicative of a typical day, there were at least a dozen other employees who would have spent the workday in the area out of view of the camera.

Well, they could start with these five. It was at least somewhat likely the killer was among them. She could only hope that if he was, the killer would be spooked into revealing his identity.

That was a slim hope indeed.

She called the security officer back inside. “Should I expect you to interrupt my workday again?” he asked, irritated.

“No,” she said, “not unless we find another body.”

“Well, if you do, I hope this one leads you to the killer,” he said, “so you can finally get out of my hair.”

Faith’s lips thinned. “I wonder how many people will think so little of you if you end up being the body we find,” she said.

“Almost everyone,” the security officer said without missing a beat.

He sat in his chair and resumed his stoic monitoring of the cameras, pointedly ignoring Faith. After a moment, she left the room, Turk on her heels.

She didn’t wish for a dead body, of course, but it seemed that their only chance of finding the killer would be to be present at another scene and happen to catch him staring. She couldn’t accept that as their only option.

As with so many things lately, what Faith could or couldn’t accept didn’t matter. Faith walked perhaps thirty yards from the office when Turk suddenly stopped, lifting his nose.

“What do you smell, boy?” Faith asked. “What do you smell?”

Turk whined and put his nose to the ground. He began to trot, following the scent. Faith kept pace with him, scanning the platform for anything suspicious. Faith followed him across three more platforms, checking the crowds of passengers for anyone behaving strangely or for anyone sitting or standing in a strange position. No one appeared to be sleeping or even sitting still. It was the start of the afternoon rush, and passengers milled about everywhere in their haste to board their connecting train or reach the line of buses and cabs waiting outside.

Turk picked up the pace as they reached a fourth platform, moving quicker as he approached the source of the smell. People jostled Faith as she hurried to keep up, occasionally offering a miffed, “Watch it!” or “Out of my way!” but mostly ignoring her.

Turk stopped in front of a bench upon which sat a woman in her late forties. The woman’s chin rested on her chest, and she slumped forward slightly, eyes closed.

Faith sighed when she reached the body, for body was what it certainly was. She reached forward and checked for a pulse. She wasn’t surprised to find there wasn’t one.

She looked around quickly to see if anyone was watching the scene, but with the crowd milling around heavily, she couldn’t pick out any one individual who might be watching instead of moving. She pulled her phone from her pocket and called Michael.

“Hey, Faith,” he said in a tired voice. “How are you?”

“Nevermind that right now,” Faith said. “Where are you?”

“I’m grabbing lunch,” he said, “by the precinct. I … I needed some space.”

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