Death of an Intern (30 page)

D
etective Hayes appeared in Max's doorway. “Captain, that little stretch of wet dirt next to the path got us some good tire tracks. Two people are working on the manufacturer of the side mirror. They found some letters and numbers inside; they're calling car dealers.”

“With the staff cutbacks, things downstairs will be a little slow. Let's see how things go before I ask the chief to call the mayor. How soon before we can compare the tracks from today and RFK?”

“Any time. I just left there. It looks promising.”

The phone rang. “Walsh.” It was good news. “An exact match?” He was on his feet. “Bingo! Get your written report to me ASAP.” He hung up. “Okay, Hayes, let's get that mirror ID'd. It's the killer's vehicle.”

Hayes handed him some papers. “Here are the ME and forensics reports.”

“Thanks. I'm going up to see the chief.”

M
ax boarded
Scalawag
and I greeted him with a hug. “I'll get you a beer.”
Jerry greeted his good friend warmly.

I fished a bottle out of our ice chest. “I know this looks like a single killer, but too much is going on, which argues more than one person is involved. What serial killer has an organization, doesn't work alone?”

I handed Max his beer.

“You can't wait for me to have one gulp?”

“Please,” I pleaded longingly. “I've been waiting all day.”

Jerry shook his head. “Humor her, pal. She's been like this all afternoon.”

Max took a swig, and let out a long, “Aaaaaah. Let's back up. We now have great tire tracks, matching those from RFK. We also have at least one footprint, maybe more. This victim was identified through missing persons. Julia Alvarado, three months pregnant. Her fetus was taken. Her wounds were very similar to the first two. But this was a sloppy job.”

“Was the thing you won't tell anyone about the same?”

“Identical. But sloppier. Like the killer was losing interest. However, we may have a smoking gun, the side-view mirror from a black van, SUV, or truck. The perp had to have heard the tree limb hit, but obviously did not investigate. I guess even the killer was not happy about being out in last night's storm.

“We have extra people on the DMV computers, compiling lists of every van, truck, or SUV registered in the District the past five years. When we get definitive information about the mirror, we'll be ready.”

I was elated and concerned at the same time. “This whole thing with Kat and me is fishy. Regardless of whether they were after her or me, what serial killer does that? I believe more than ever that somebody associated with the Vice President's office is involved.”

“I understand; that torments me too. While at the softball game, someone sees you walking with Kat. Maybe that disturbs them. Manchester's wheelman was there. Why? I believe you are right—none of this has anything to do with a serial killer.”

“Okay, but why attack Kat and me? Let's say we could prove Rick Grayson got Janet and Sarah pregnant. That's not a criminal offense. It would cause a big stink. But Janet's dead and Sarah's now under Manchester's control, so why…?”

“Maybe they are afraid of you,” Jerry chimed in.

“Meaning Janet's killing was the centerpiece of what we call the serial killings, and the rest was all camouflage,” I said enthusiastically.

“I can only follow evidence, which now means tracking down all vans, trucks and SUVs sold in D.C. in the last five years. We will also be checking local body shops, known chop shops, garages, and dealers for any vehicle brought in without a right side-view mirror.”

“What about a phonied-up serial killing?”

“Unlikely. If you think it's the Graysons, tell me how.”

“Come on you two, I haven't slaved over a cold cooler all day for nothing. Let's dig in like the old days…three weeks ago.”

“I've got to hit the head.” I went below.

“Good save, Jer. We were getting a little heated. We know if she were left on her own…but that's what makes her so good at her job.”

Jerry nodded. “What's going on in the EOB?”

“Personally, I think Mr. Grayson got himself into some trouble and somebody bailed him out. A hired gun wielding a knife. But proving that is next to impossible.”

“So Laura could be right?”

“I've believed that from the minute I talked to Marsha Hines right here on
Scalawag
. But please do not tell Laura that. I couldn't live with it.”

They both laughed.

The red sun was sinking behind the Virginia hills. Calm had settled over the harbor. Mother Nature had exercised all her ferocious wrath and was now taking a nap.

Across the Potomac River and three miles downstream, the red glow of the setting sun seemed redder as it reflected off the red brick facades on the rows of Alexandria townhouses. Frankie Grayson and Lisa Sherra were entering Frankie's townhouse. The garage door opened revealing a black SUV. The Vice President was in residence.

A block away in a five-story apartment building that loomed over the three story townhouses between it and Grayson's townhouse, two men were perched in a fifth floor apartment nicknamed the aerie. One man aimed a telescopic camera at the front of Sparrow's building, while another panned powerful binoculars back and forth, searching.

M
ax stayed until 9:30 when he was called away. A shooting. Jerry and I enjoyed a good-night drink topside, mine was green tea with ginseng. We gazed at the cloudless sky and tried to pick out stars and constellations by name, failing miserably at it.

Jerry was getting mellow on brandy. It wasn't fair.

“That, I am sure, is the North Star,” he slurred, pointing heavenward.

I conceded that to him, being he was a sailor and all. I immediately came up with a fictitious name for one of its celestial neighbors. That began a series of ridiculous naming of stars and making up groupings that only our weirdness could conceive. It was kids play in a way. Our laughing and our carefree excitement eventually sapped every ounce of energy in us.

Well, almost.

I felt drained, but in a good way. I was sure we would sleep well later. I had no trouble convincing Jerry to go below.

I
sat in my cubicle, clipping out Wilder's A-1 story on the Alvarado killing from Sunday, and his followup in today's issue, and didn't care that I had not been on that assignment. I'd had a blissful weekend.

The serial killings had now taken on a new dynamic with the killing of Mrs. Alvarado. Another woman coming out of a pregnancy clinic on a stormy night plucked from the streets of Washington, D.C., and slaughtered.

Max said this killing was sloppier than the first two. This time, the killer left behind some useful evidence. Could this killing be the one that catches the killer? Could he be losing his lust? Hardly. His kind never loses their carnal desires.

What if Janet had been the only victim? No serial killer? Say she had just vanished. There would have been a huge investigation because of her place of work. Like that Congressman from California, and the young woman whose bones were found a year later in Rock Creek Park. He was never charged, but he lost his career over the scandal.

That was why Frankie Grayson had a fixation on wanting to protect her brother. What was she capable of doing? How far would that mania push her?

Janet could have just disappeared. But unlike the Congressman's mistress, Janet was not yet sexually tied to the Vice President. If someone only wanted to get rid of Janet, there had to be better ways than a phonied-up serial killing.

Manchester's wheelman could have been part of a team of old hit men. A cleanup squad? Manchester was many things, but was he a killer?

My cell phone rang interrupting my thoughts. It was Max.

“I heard from Mr. Brown that the twins were at it again on Saturday night. They don't seem to care.”

“Did I tell you we visited Kat Saturday morning?”

“No. How was she?”

“Alert. Hawk showed up while we were there. He knew Kat's mother well enough to call her by her first name. He exuded charm. Now you are telling me a few hours after that, he was into a menage a trois with his sister and an employee. I wonder what Mrs. Turner would think about that? Mr. Brown has to see the similarities of Six and One, and One's parting company.”

“Our Mr. Brown is a straight arrow and considers it all a ‘pretty sick affair.' We may not like these people, but frankly none of this gets us any closer to the serial killer.”