Body Count (14 page)

Josh strokes my hair and then puts his arm around me, giving me a squeeze. “How are you holding up?”

“I'm fine,” I say, not wanting him, or any man, to touch me. Not when all I can think about is what that bastard is doing to Sam.

T
he rest of the team files in.

Krip sits next to me and the pungent smell of stale tobacco brings my nausea back.

O'Donnell strides across the room. “Okay, let's get this started. You first, Couples.” He sits down. “Anything from Sam's place?”

“Not good news, I'm afraid,” Sandra says, smoothing her hair down behind her ear and opening her notepad. “No prints except Sam's and Sophie's on the profile. Same with all the files. And the files match the inventory exactly.”

We're all silent. We were hoping for a lead.
I
was hoping for a lead. I slide my ring on and off my finger. How can this be happening?

“Okay. Marco, let's hear about VICAP. Tell me you've
got some good news.” O'Donnell rubs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, and his glasses move up and down.

“The VICAP guys have sorted through the database matches on the new search and done a first cull. We've got lots of hits.” Josh passes out copies of the VICAP report. “That's good news,” he says, looking at O'Donnell.

We each end up with what looks like at least fifteen pages.

Josh does a quick double-click of his pen. “The report shows all the computer matches, and the guys have highlighted the ones they think are probably our perp. There are a few that have been logged from Arizona, which would correspond to our writing analysis.”

An elimination process.

O'Donnell flips to the first page. “So, let's go through them.”

“I had a quick glance before I came over here,” Josh says. “I think we've got at least ten definite matches.”

Flynn flicks through the pages quickly and then returns to the first one. “Our perp's a busy boy.”

Flynn's right. If this is our killer, he's gone from three vics in D.C. to a long, murderous history. The body count is rising.

“Very busy. Across at least three different states over the last eleven years,” Josh says. “And these are only the murders that have been logged on the database by the cops.” He waves the printout in the air. “We've still got a hell of lot of states and individuals that aren't on the bandwagon.”

“Those pesky cops, hey?” Jones says.

“I wonder if he moves for work—his paid work—or for his charming hobby,” Krip says.

“That's a question we need to answer,” O'Donnell says, pointing his finger at Krip.

I don't think Krip will be trying too hard to answer any questions.

I stand up and walk toward the window, partly to get away from the smell of tobacco, and partly because sitting still is making my skin crawl. I stare at the D.C. skyline. From here I can see the Washington Monument and the top of the Smithsonian.

I turn around and lean on the window. “I definitely think our guy is either in law enforcement or poses as a cop. I had another look at the crime scenes and both Jean and Susan went willingly with their attacker.”

Flynn raises his hands behind his head and leans back. “That's more likely than him knowing his victims. We've run down all the girls' acquaintances and there are no matches, no common friends. If they knew him, they would have been seen with him.”

“What about security footage from the parking lots?” I ask.

Flynn furrows his brow and his blue eyes fix on me. “No good. Our perp tampered with the cameras. The one in Teresa's lot was reported as malfunctioning two days before, and Susan's the day before she was nabbed.”

“So he's cased the scenes. There must be some footage of him from earlier, at least from the days the cameras malfunctioned,” I say.

“We've been through that footage several times. Nothing looks suspicious. No vans, either. Maybe once
we've got a suspect we can run them against the tape to place them at the crime scene. But with no suspects, we've got squat.” Flynn casts his eyes down and leans forward on the table again.

“VICAP,” O'Donnell says, refocusing the group's attention on the report.

I sit down. I'll have to put up with the smell of Krip.

We go through the VICAP notes, crossing out murders that are definitely unrelated.

After much discussion—and nearly one and a half hours—we are down to a list of fifteen murders, including the two in Chicago. We've included one the VICAP guys didn't think was relevant and taken out two, but other than that our lists match. I move over to the whiteboard and write it up.

“Corresponds with the notion of him moving around,” Couples says.

Josh scribbles on his pad. “Yeah. I think we can assume he lived in these states during the crime periods.”

“Except perhaps Florida,” Flynn says. “We've only got one murder down there.”

Krip swings his chair from side to side. “A holiday fling perhaps.”

“That would make sense. That one's in January. He may have gone down for some sun,” I say.

Couples reads down the list. “And the last Michigan one was after the Florida murder. In May.”

“So let's assume our guy hasn't lived in Florida, but he's probably lived in the other four states. Agreed?” O'Donnell says. We all nod or verbalize our agreement. “And are we happy that all these murders are definitely the work of our killer?”

“Yeah. We've got the body positioning in all of them,” I say.

“But…” Jones flicks through the notes. “His MO's changed.”

“Not surprising,” Josh says. “He's been refining his art. He also keeps the girls for longer now.”

“And he never went for career girls until the past few years,” Flynn says.

Couples follows his lead. “His first victim, in Arizona, was a schoolkid. Only sixteen.”

I glance through the victim list. We don't have detailed information or photos, but it's obvious from what we do have that the age of the victims has been increasing. He also started off with high-school students, college girls and a few full-time workers, but more transient girls. A pattern. The only one who doesn't fit this trend is the second victim in Arizona. She was twenty-five at the time and worked as a shop assistant. Even had a husband.

“Except for the second murder, the ages have gradually increased, and the targets have changed,” I say, my voice quickening with the promise of a lead. “We've got five students, a waitress, one unemployed woman, and
this last girl in Michigan worked at a shoe store, but she'd only had the job for three weeks. Then suddenly in Chicago there's a shift in his victim type. He's gone from women who are generally high-risk victims—naive, transient, etc.—to the low-risk victims, women who are more career focused. A receptionist and a personnel officer in Chicago and then here in D.C. he's gone for the real go-getters.”

“So why the change?” Couples asks.

There's silence for a moment.

“He went to college in Michigan,” Josh says. “Probably a graduate program, given his current age in the profile.”

“Of course,” I say. “That fits perfectly. He thinks of these women as his girlfriends and as he moves up the social and professional ladder, so do his victims.”

“This is getting good,” O'Donnell says, taking off his glasses. Even Krip seems interested and leans forward in his chair.

We're interrupted by a phone ringing. It's Sandra's.

“This might be something,” she says. “Couples… Uh-huh… Yep… Right… No, of course they didn't report it. Thanks.” She hangs up and then addresses us, quickly pushing her hair behind her ears. “Sam's neighbors from below did hear noises on Wednesday night at around ten forty-five. In fact, they even thought they heard a scream.”

“Goddamn it,” Flynn says, expressing what we all feel. “When will people learn to report this kind of shit?”

People often hear things, bad things, and don't report it. They don't think it's any of their business.

“At least we know when she was taken,” Jones says, lifting his pen from the doodles on his pad.

I'm not comforted. If she was taken on the Thursday, it would have given us more time.

After a minute of silence O'Donnell speaks. “So, where were we? That's right, college in Michigan. Getting good.”

And with that we go back to the guy's homicidal history.

“So our suspect list is every male who studied in the state of Michigan,” Krip says. “Not exactly a small sample to investigate.”

Couples drops her pen on top of her notepad. “He's right.”

I stay positive. This is a break. “It's a start, at least. A good start.”

Josh smiles at me.

I look at him, part of me longing to touch him even in all this mess. And then it hits me. “Hey, didn't you study in Michigan, Marco?” I make sure I use his last name.

“Yeah. I remember the murders well.” He flicks his eyes to the window. He seems sad. “In fact, they're one of the reasons I wanted to get into law enforcement.”

“What colleges are in Michigan?” O'Donnell asks Josh.

“University of Michigan, Michigan State, Central Michigan University, Oakland University…there're quite a few.”

We all jot down the ones that Josh reels off. Even Krip takes down some notes.

O'Donnell stands up. “Okay,” he says, “we need a full list of colleges and we need all the enrollment names for 1997 to 2000, just the students who were enrolled for
all three years.” He walks to the whiteboard and back again. “We also need the full case files—from all the murders—to see if there's anything we can use.”

“Particularly the early ones. That's where he may have made the mistakes,” Flynn says, looking at me. Flynn's throwing me a bone, knowing how much I need it.

He's right. Those early ones might hold the clue that saves Sam. I want the first murder.

“Anyone got contacts?” O'Donnell asks.

“I'll take Chicago Homicide. Recontact them and get the full files sent over,” Flynn says. His blue eyes fix on me.

I take the cue. “I'll do Arizona. I'd like to see how this guy started out.”

“You got it, Anderson,” O'Donnell says. “And look into this second victim. Why doesn't she fit the victim profile in terms of age and occupation?”

I nod. It's a good question. Maybe she saw something she wasn't supposed to. The first murder was unplanned, but perhaps something went wrong. A witness? So he kills her and once she's dead he can establish his routine. It wouldn't be the first time.

“I'll do Michigan,” Josh says. “I worked in the field office for a couple of months in my rookie days.”

“Florida?” O'Donnell asks. No one responds. “Krip, you follow that one up.”

“Sure.”

That lazy bastard better do it.

“Couples, you and I can work on the full list of colleges and students,” O'Donnell says.

Sandra nods once, her bob bouncing.

“Anything else?” O'Donnell asks.

“What if it's a cop? Could even be someone who's worked on the cases and moved around,” Krip says.

O'Donnell loosens his shirt collar slightly. “I'll look into that.” He's new on the case, so he's the best one to investigate, especially if he runs checks on D.C. police and FBI personnel.

There's silence for a moment.

Flynn unfolds a map from his folder. “This shows us the crime-scene locations.” He takes the map up to the whiteboards. He sticks it on the left whiteboard, securing it with four magnets.

O'Donnell follows Flynn to the front of the room for a closer look. “With only three murders, any pattern will be hard to see.”

We all stand up and gather around the map.

Jones leans in. “We've got Jean Davis in a stolen car at Keys Bridge,” he says, pointing to a red cross on the map. “Teresa in Cedarville State Forest.” He points to the outskirts of D.C. and another red cross. “And Susan in East Potomac Park.” He points to the large park. “It looks pretty random, for the moment at least.” He shakes his head.

“Well, let's keep the map up here. We might find a pattern,” O'Donnell says. “Anything else?” He turns around to face us.

There must be something else. I think back to my profiling and remember my feeling that he was in Jean's home, going through her things, including the fridge. And I still don't believe Sam would have left her bedroom window open.

“Maybe, hold on a sec,” I say. I move back to my spot
on the table and flip through the photos from Jean's, Teresa's and Susan's apartments. I'm looking for their trash cans. I find them in the photo. Teresa's and Susan's are both covered bins but Jean's is open. “Jean was last seen taking out the trash, yet there's stuff in her trashcan.” I use the American terms, trash and trashcan, rather than the Australian equivalents. I find myself using more and more U.S. terms—it's easier when you're working with Americans.

Flynn walks back to the table and leans in. “So there is.”

“Have we got a contents list for all the girls?”

“We've got everything,” Flynn says.

The rest of the team file back to the table, but only Krip sits back down.

“Just a hunch,” I say.

Jones starts shuffling paper. “It's in the police report.”

We all flip through our reports.

“Here it is. Page five, middle of the page,” Jones says.

I read through the section and, sure enough, all women had a few things that could have been past the use-by date. I hold up the photo of Jean's bin.

“Given Jean had just taken the trash out, this bin should have been virtually empty,” I say. “And surely if she was going to clean out her fridge, she'd do it before she took out a load of trash.”

I'm met with considered silence.