I inspected the photographs one at a time. The first few centered on Esther. She lay on her back, one arm stretched over her head, the other at her side. Her left leg was bent at an awkward angle; her right was straight. She was wearing a nightshirt that covered her to her knees and was barefoot. The nightshirt was white, but its top half was drenched red with blood. More blood stained the floor around her head. Some of her long black hair was matted to the floor with it. The source of the blood was a gaping wound that ran across her throat. But that wasn't the extent of her injuries.
Her face had been slashed and cut numerous times. Not an inch of it appeared to have been spared. Her cheeks were scored, her nose gouged, her forehead crisscrossed with lacerations. But that wasn't the worst of the damage. That had been inflicted on her eyes. Both had been stabbed, leaving eye sockets that were saucers of blood and gore.
Reuben had been right. This was gruesome.
The second batch of photographs showed Willie Ackerland lying on his back in a crib. The crib stood by the bed in which Esther must have slept in. One of Willie's stubby hands protruded from between the wooden bars of the crib, his fingers clenched in a tiny fist. He was wearing a white shirt and blue pants. His hair was golden. The blanket that had covered him in his sleep had been twisted and cast aside to the end of the crib. He had been stabbed through the chest several times and his face had received a similar treatment to that of Esther's. His eyes had also been stabbed out. I doubted Henrietta herself would have recognized him. There was much less blood in the crib than around Esther's body. Probably the result of the initial stab wound finding Willie's heart.
I set the photographs down and leaned back in the chair. Intense anger gripped me and I noticed my fingers were clenching and unclenching of their own volition. A low growl escaped my throat. I couldn't remain seated. I stood and looked out the window. A crow was perched on the windowsill. It one-eyed me, tilting its head, as if considering my worth. Then it squawked twice, flapped its wings, and flew away.
I stuck my hands in my pants pockets and paced the small office. Four strides was all it took to reach from one wall to the other. I felt like hurling something at the wall, but figured the racket would draw curious policemen to the office, and I might be made to leave before I finished with the report.
This was no regular murder, and the man I was pursuing was no ordinary killer. This was brutal, depraved, and immensely evil. Whoever did this had a purpose beyond killing. A dark purpose.
When I felt I was calm, I returned to my chair and went on reading.
The apartment had been ransacked. Dresser drawers had been rummaged through and closet doors left hanging open with clothes thrown to the floor. In the living room, sofa cushions had been slashed, while in the kitchen, the killer had gone through drawers and cupboards.
A handbag had been emptied on the dining table. A compact, a handkerchief, a tube of lipstick, some tissue paper, and a pencil lay scattered. No money. No keys. The killer had taken them with him, which explained the locked door.
The bodies were removed to the morgue, where they underwent a more thorough examination. Various statistics were noted—height, build, hair color—and the many injuries were listed. It was a long list. For both woman and child.
Esther had died of her neck wound. All of her facial injuries occurred postmortem. She had not been sexually assaulted.
Willie had suffered multiple chest wounds and, as I suspected, one of the stabs had gone through his heart. Like Esther's, his disfigurement occurred after death. At least he didn't suffer much. That was some comfort, I supposed.
There were no defensive wounds on Esther's hands, which likely meant that her attacker had managed to catch her off guard and struck quickly. Perhaps the killer was a person Esther knew, which allowed him to surprise her. Or perhaps she had been sleeping when he broke through her door, rose to see what was happening, but was still sluggish from sleep when he came upon her in her bedroom. In short, the lack of defensive wounds did not help me narrow the pool of suspects.
They had both died during the night, between 23:00 and 04:00. Which meant that they might have died on August 27, but their date of death was officially set to the 26th.
Included in the file were two identity cards for residents of Mandatory Palestine. The first bore the name Esther Kantor. Various details were noted on the card. Birth date: April 8, 1919; Place of Residence: Tel Aviv; Occupation: Secretary; Race: Jewess; Height: 5 feet 9 inches; Color of eyes: Blue; Color of hair: Black; Build: slender.
