AllFreeNovel
Share Us
16
EVA
Mark madea lot of good points on why it might be too dangerous for me to coax this killer out into the open by giving an interview. Especially after I told him what I plan to say. But in the end we agreed that it was an avenue we’ll have to explore eventually and we might as well do it sooner rather than later.
I didn’t actually get the ball rolling on it last night in any way though, because between running around all day and Simon’s bed being as comfy as it is, I was lying down in it by 9 PM and asleep soon after.
Mark’s phone ringing while it was still dark outside made no sense. Nor did his alert and clipped, yet monotone responses after he picked up. Not until he told me what the call was about.
Now we’re standing in the snow by the river, at the start of Špica Park, the urban park where people used to swim and rent boats back in the day. Snow had stopped falling sometime last night, but there’s a good inch of it covering the pebbled path and benches that line this idyllic area. In the distance I can see Ljubljana castle on its snowy hill, and the bell towers of the cathedral. The air is icy cold and the wind cuts like a very sharp knife.
Not as sharp as the one that pierced the young woman’s heart.
They still haven’t moved her from under the snow covered, leafless willow tree where she was spotted by a taxi driver. The blood that flowed from her wound formed a red river of its own in the snow, running down the slight incline as though trying to flow into the water. But the snow soaked it up.
The young dead woman is not yet thirty, I’m sure. Her raven black, long hair is spread out around her head, and together with the red blood, it reminds me nauseatingly of Snow White. My baby won’t stop kicking and moving inside me. She probably wants me to look away, to stay away from those memories and that line of thinking, because it very nearly ended my life not so long ago. But I can’t look away.
The scene is illuminated by bright floodlights that the forensic team needs to work. The body is posed like the others, arms spread out, palms turned upwards as though she’s about to make a snow angel. There’s the same almost smile on her face that I noticed on the other victims. It seems like she’s about to start laughing.
But she won’t. Ever.
“Her name is Tara Merc,” Sojer says as he walks up to me and Mark. “We found this in the trash can just there… ”
He points at a large trashcan by a set of stone steps that lead up to the road with one hand while handing us the woman’s ID card in a clear evidence bag with the other.
The picture is recent and it’s undeniably her. She was twenty-seven years old. Too young.
Mark clears his throat. “Where’s the taxi driver who found her?”
Sojer points up at the road where several police cars with flashing blue lights are parked. “Up there. You want to speak to him now?”
Mark nods and offers me his arm, which I’m grateful for, since the path back to the road is steep and slippery, and my legs are shaky. We’re careful to only use the path from the riverside up to the road which Ida and her forensic team told us they’d already checked for evidence.
When we reach the sidewalk, Sojer is already standing next to a gray haired man huddled in a big, puffy grey jacket and smoking a cigarette with a shaking hand. He’s leaning against the side of his taxi, and his eyes are glassy as they reflect the flashing blue and white lights.
“This is the taxi driver,” Sojer says and the man’s hand shakes violently as he brings his cigarette to his mouth.
“She was just lying in there in the snow,” he mutters. “Surrounded by blood. I didn’t even go near her, I couldn’t. I already knew she was dead.”
He’s shaking all over by the time he stops speaking.
“At what time was this?” Mark asks in an even tone.
“A little after two AM,” he says. “I always come here to take my break at two. I was just smoking my first cigarette, trying to decide if I should go all the way down to the river or whether the paths were too slippery. It’s so beautiful with all the snow. And then I saw her…”
He gulps and takes a long drag of his cigarette, the red glowing point eating into the filter, which he doesn’t seem to notice.
“Did you see anyone else here?” Mark asks and the man shakes his head.
“Just her and me,” he says. “What was she doing out here alone so late? I mean, it’s a fancy, quiet neighborhood and all, and it’s a nice spot, but a beautiful woman alone that late at night? Was she a prostitute?”
“We don’t know that yet,” Mark says. “From which direction did you drive here?”
We’re standing next to a small roundabout and a bus stop, which is larger than they usually are since it’s an end of the line one where buses wait a little longer before turning back the way they came. One road leads straight up into a residential area, the other along the river towards the city center. The taxi driver points at the latter.
“And I would’ve seen if someone else was here, because I was a hundred percent alert as I drove up,” he says. “I almost ran over someone on Zois Street coming here. This idiot in a long black coat ran across just as I was coming down. I barely stopped in time with all the ice and snow on the road. What kind of idiot do you have to be to wear all black at night and cross the road outside of a zebra crossing? I almost crashed trying to stop. It turned me right around.”
His hand is shaking worse now, but mostly from the righteous indignation he just delivered his rant in. Doubtless he was also driving much too fast, taxi drivers around here usually do, but that’s not what I’m most focused on.
