Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (31 page)

Jordan swiveled his chair and stared at the wall. If George Allister had killed his own family, would he have renewed his driver's license after the Indiana one expired? Clearly not in Indiana. Jordan had been hoping for some easy answers. Didn't look like that was going to happen.

"Fax is coming through," Renee called from the hall.

Jordan stood and stretched, and then headed to the media room where three fax machines handled the load of three hundred officers, inspectors, and staff.

"Looks like the good stuff first." Renee handed Jordan a bundle of pages.

Jordan took them and looked at poorly copied crime scene photos. At least the lighting was clear enough to make out the objects. And what he saw was enough to churn any stomach. A woman was sitting upright in bed, her legs jutted out before her. A long Y-cut down her sternum suggested some crude form of autopsy performed by the killer. Her head sat between her legs, facing inward.

Her arms had been cut off at the shoulders, and her fingers were balanced individually along her thigh like bloody sausages. Her feet had been severed and switched, the left on the right leg, the right on the left leg. And her fingerless arms were stretched out separately on the bed. "Damn," he finally said.

Renee refused even to look. Instead, she passed him another page.

Karen Allister's fate had been only slightly less grotesque than her mother's. Her body, also cut into pieces, created a path from her mother's bedroom to the front door. Her feet sat upright by her door as though she'd been walking in when her body was severed from them. Her legs to the knee were balanced on a high stair. Lower, were her thighs. Her body was a legless stump balanced only several stairs up from the foyer where her head had been found. Jordan studied a fuzzy close-up of Karen's face from when she was alive. Her light brown hair and light eyes reminded him of Casey. Jordan turned to Renee. "Call Indiana back and see if you can get more pictures of the mother and daughter before the murders."

Renee nodded.

Jordan took the pictures and walked back toward his desk. He didn't even want to think about the fact that a guy capable of this might be in San Francisco now.

Renee returned with the rest of the fax. "I'm going to get on those calls."

"Thanks, Renee."

Jordan turned past the pictures and started to read the report on the crime. There was no mention of an unusual mark on the victims' thighs. Perhaps Leonardo hadn't started with his signature until later.

"Got something," Jones said as he rushed into Jordan's office.

Jordan looked up.

"George Allister has a Kentucky driver's license last renewed in 1997 under the name Roy McAllister. I called the bureau of motor vehicles there and found out he was in a bad wreck in July of 1998. Totaled the car and nearly went through the windshield. I found the hospital where he was admitted. He was there for more than a month, needed major surgery."

"Surgery?"

Jones grinned, excited. "Facial reconstruction."

Jordan nodded, wishing Allister hadn't survived that crash. The accident was just a few months before the murders started in Cincinnati. "What else?"

"That's all I've got so far."

Jordan handed him a ballpoint and motioned for him to write. "Get the name of the doctor who performed it, how it was paid for, the records. I'm hoping they'll have pictures. Got it?"

"Got it." Jones turned and left.

Jordan could feel the rookie's excitement, and it was contagious. He scooped up the phone and dialed Alta Bates Hospital.

"William Glass's room, please," he said when someone answered.

"Hello," Casey answered, sounding both curious and annoyed at the intrusion.

"How's the patient?"

"He's coming home tomorrow."

"Who's that?" Jordan could hear Billy ask in the background.

"Just the inspector."

Jordan laughed. "Thanks."

"What's going on?" Casey asked.

"It's been an exciting day."

"You going to tell me about it now, or you want to call back when you're in the mood to talk?"

Jordan told Casey about the Allisters and the way Jeanette and Karen had died.

"Fits the profile—very personalized anger. He was already experimenting with dissection, but it was crude. His anger got in the way of doing anything more skilled. Those were probably his first murders. Was the mother's face covered?" she asked.

Jordan shook his head. "What?"

"When she was killed, was the mother's face covered?"

Something niggled at his brain. "No, I told you they found it pressed between her legs."

"That's staging," Casey said. "What about when she was killed. Do you have the file?"

"It's right in front of me."

"Read the part about how they think she was killed and then call me back." With that, she hung up.

Jordan set the phone down with a light curse. At least she could have asked nicely. Focusing on the file, Jordan read the findings. About two and a half pages into it, he found what he was looking for. "How the hell?" he sputtered. Picking up the phone, he dialed Casey back.

"Find it?"

"How did you know?"

"What'd he use?" she asked.

Jordan could tell she was smiling.

"A pillowcase."

"That's how you know it was most likely the son. It would've been hard even for him to kill his own mother. He depersonalizes her by covering her face. Then, she's not his mother. She's just a body."

"So you think it was George? And you think George is Leonardo?"

"I'd bet on it."

"Damn, Casey, you're good."

She laughed. "Don't sound so shocked. Why don't you pick me up at the hospital early tomorrow, and I'll come in and see what you've got. I'd come now if it weren't for Billy."

She was back in profiler mode. Jordan felt a tiny measure of relief. "What about Billy?"

"He's spending the morning with Kevin. You can help me take him home later. See you out front about eight?"

"You're pushy, you know that."

"Yeah, yeah. First great, then pushy. I get no appreciation in this job."

"Do you keep up with anyone at the Bureau?" Jordan asked.

"Not a soul," she said. "See you in the morning."

He nodded, hanging up the phone. She wouldn't know about the FBI's supposed involvement then. He decided to wait to tell her until he knew more. He was looking forward to seeing her the following morning. He could use her insight, and he was starting to like her company. If that wasn't the strangest thing.

Jordan could see the sky darkening and knew they were in for more weather. He was getting sick of the rain.

There was a knock, and he swung back to Jones's unsmiling face.

"What's up?"

"Doctor's name was Joseph Ballari."

"Was?"

"He's dead. Killed in a fire in his office building on September 24, three months after Allister's accident."

Jordan wrote "doctor dead" on his notepad. "No records, either, then?"

"None."

Leonardo was doing a good job covering his tracks. "What about nurses who worked with him at the time?"

"Two were killed in the fire. The last one, a Nina Rodriguez, lived. Quit her job three days before the fire."

"Did you find her?"

"Not yet. She's no longer listed in the area. I haven't called records yet. She could've gotten married, divorced, whatever."

"Try everything, but find her. We need someone who can paint us a picture of the new George Allister."

Jones nodded and left the room, less enthusiastically than he had the last time.

Jordan thought he was beyond disappointment. But he felt the familiar stir himself. He picked up the phone and dialed his in-laws' phone number.

"You've reached the Thomas residence. Please leave a message at the beep." The voice was Ryan's, and Jordan felt a physical pain at the sound of it.

It was almost eight o'clock. Jordan was surprised no one was home. "It's Dad here. Just calling to check on you guys. Angie, give me a call at work when you get in."

He hung up the phone and suddenly felt tired.

Standing, he gathered the notes and files from his desk and packed them in his bag to take home. "Want to grab a bite?"

Jordan looked up to see Harry McClerkin leaning in his doorway. "Sounds great."

Just then, Renee appeared wearing a solemn face. "What is it?"

"A call just came in—a missing kid reported at Corte Madera mall." Jordan sagged, weighted with dread. "Damn."

Chapter 27

Casey watched the police car stop in front of the hospital before she realized that the car said San Francisco Police and she was standing in Berkeley.

"Casey McKinley?" the officer asked as he stepped out. He was a tall slender white man with light brown hair and eyes. Everything about his appearance sent off alarms in her mind. She took a step back toward the hospital entrance.

"I'm Officer James West. Inspector Gray asked me to pick you up."

She smiled, then turned and walked back into the hospital.

"Agent McKinley," the officer called after her, sounding puzzled and slightly annoyed. "Inspector Gray said you might be skeptical. Said you should call him."

Once she was safely inside next to the information station with at least a half dozen people staring at her, she glanced over her shoulder at the officer.

He stopped several feet from her and pulled his radio off his shoulder. "We're supposed to call him on the radio."

She folded her arms. "Go ahead."

The officer fumbled with the radio, and after seeming to figure out which button was which, called in.

Nearly a minute later, she heard Jordan's voice. "Officer West? You're at the hospital?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, McKinley, are you giving my officer a hard time?"

Casey snatched the radio from the officer's hand and pushed the button using the knuckle of her other hand. It seemed easy enough to her. "What the hell were you thinking sending a white guy with size ten shoes over here?" she chastised.

Officer West stared, puzzled, at his feet.

Jordan laughed into the radio. "Do you have to yell?"

Casey could feel the stares, people wondering why she was complaining about the white guy.

Meanwhile, Officer West was staring at his shiny shoes.

"Don't give my rookie a hard time. Just get in the car and go with him."

She frowned. "Why aren't you here?"

"I'm at the scene," Jordan said, his tone suddenly sober.

"Shit," she responded before realizing she was still speaking into the radio.

"Exactly. You coming or what? The whole world is hearing this, you know."

"See you in a few." Casey handed the radio back to the officer. "Sorry," she said to whoever was listening and started for the door again. West was right on her tail. She turned back to him. "I apologize for that."

"Don't worry. Inspector Gray warned me."

She smiled. "He did, did he?"

West cracked an awkward smile. "You know what I mean."

"I certainly do." As soon as he pulled out onto Ashby, Casey began asking questions. "When was Gray called to the scene?"

West stared through the windshield. "I don't know."

"Is this a new victim of the same killer?"

"Couldn't say, ma'am."

"Is this victim black or white?"

West glanced at her before responding. He clearly thought she had an issue with race. "I don't know," he finally said.

"Boy or girl?"

He shrugged.

"What do you know about the most recent victim?"

He didn't even flinch. "Nothing."