The Nameless Dead Read Online Free

‘As far as I’m concerned, the body is definitely Sterling Anson’s.’
    The FBI man nodded. He had never liked the way law enforcement professionals deprived the dead of their personal identity by calling them ‘vics.’ It was a professional issue. If you kept in mind that people were unique individuals, you were more likely to nail their killers.
    ‘I understand Mr. Anson was quite a celebrity in these parts,’ he said, softening his tone.
    The detective nodded. ‘Everyone in Detroit knew of him. Most people thought he was a great guy, but he did have his enemies. Someone tried to burn down the radio station when his show was on air a couple of years ago.’
    ‘Those fucking Nazis,’ the CSI put in. ‘After that, they called in the next time he was broadcasting live and said they’d get him sooner or later.’
    Sebastian turned to Jamieson, who nodded. ‘It was a public phone and no witnesses came forward. We never caught them.’
    ‘And you don’t have any idea of their identities?’
    ‘No, we don’t.’
    ‘After all this time.’ The senior FBI man let several seconds pass to register his disapproval.
    ‘The thing is,’ Jamieson said, ‘he used to talk about the threats he got on air rather than reporting them tous. If he was telling the truth, there must have been dozens of them.’
    ‘All right, Detective, let’s see what you’ve got.’
    They moved into the hall and toward the stairs. According to the briefing Bimsdale had prepared on the Bureau plane from Washington, Sterling Anson was a Howard Stern look-alike whose nightly talk show knocked lumps off anyone who demonstrated racist tendencies. He never hesitated to name names, and several companies had fired staff displaying prejudice. Businesses run by bigots had been harassed out of business. Anson was an obvious target for retaliation, even though he had never suffered personal physical attack. Until now.
    ‘I didn’t see any alarm system,’ Bimsdale said.
    Jamieson shook his head as he led them to the second floor. ‘Seems he was too fearless for his own good.’
    On the landing, where the metallic smell of blood was pervasive, the CSI stepped forward. ‘This isn’t pretty,’ she said, her hand on the first door to the right.
    Peter Sebastian leaned forward and took in the badge on her chest. ‘Don’t worry, Martine. We’ve seen it all before.’ When the CSI looked at Bimsdale, who swallowed nervously, he amended his statement. ‘Well, I have,’ said his boss.
    He followed the woman inside and immediately regretted his bravado. It was true that he had witnessed the worst that the country’s murderers could provide, but the scene by Lake Huron was a real eye-opener.
    ‘We think the killer may have been let into the house by the vic…by Mr. Anson,’ the detective said.
    Peter Sebastian’s eyes were fixed on what remained of the talk show host. ‘Why’s that?’ Bending down, helifted the cover of a plastic container on the rug below the suspended body. Two blood-drenched eyes stared up at him.
    ‘Like I said,’ Jamieson said, after a long pause, ‘there’s no sign of a break-in.’
    ‘But that’s not all,’ the CSI said, pointing to the curved piece of rolled steel from which Anson was hanging head-down. ‘There are traces of blood on the hook in the beam.’
    Sebastian looked around at the congealing slick on the floor. There were spatters on the walls, too. ‘So his throat was cut before the hook was attached up there? You think that suggests the killer didn’t gain prior entry?’
    The detective nodded. ‘The medical examiner said that Anson took a blow to the back of the head that would have knocked him out.’
    The senior FBI man looked up at him. ‘Is it likely that a man with a history of threats would have opened the door to a stranger?’
    Jamieson frowned. ‘If it was a stranger. We’re checking with his family and friends. His wife, who’s Chinese-American, said he was careful at their place in