Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (32 page)

"Where are you taking me?"

"I don't know." As soon as the words were out, he looked over, turning red.

"Let me take a guess here. Inspector Gray told you not to answer any of my questions, right?"

The officer nodded without meeting her gaze.

"You mind telling me where we're going?"

"To the scene, ma'am."

Casey rolled her eyes and leaned back against the seat. "Great," she mumbled.

* * *

"I'm glad you're here," Jordan said as he met Casey at the officer's car. From his tone, though, she knew it wasn't because he was happy to see her.

She looked around at the sloped hills surrounding Point Reyes. It was different than the other locations, more scenic. It would mean something to Leonardo, and she needed to spend some time to figure out what.

The first was a residential kill—the girl burned in her home, though she hadn't been discovered first. The second girl was dumped in the city—behind an abandoned warehouse. Next, there had been the girl in the alley, also in the city, then the girl in the park. And now this.

This was his first truly suburban kill. This wasn't far from where he was living. Or he had spent some time here. She looked up at the houses that lined the hills, their rear windows facing the sea. "Check and see if any of the places with views of this site are rented."

Jordan glanced up. "You think he's watching?"

"I think he'd love to be if he's not." She turned her attention to the scene. "What've you got?"

Jordan stared at his small spiral notepad as if he hadn't just been looking at the victim in person. "Caucasian male, eleven, somewhat undersized for his age."

"Male?"

Jordan nodded.

"That's odd. This one from a mall?"

Jordan nodded again. "I've got cops casing all the malls, looking out for uniforms. There just aren't enough cops to patrol every place."

"Was he reported missing?"

"I got the call right after I spoke to you yesterday. Couple has twins—a girl and a boy. They were at Corte Madera mall. Parents left the kids to play in a toy store while they ran an errand. Girl went to one end, boy to the other—looking for different toys."

Casey nodded, making mental notes.

"A while later, the boy comes to show his sister a toy she might like." He looked down at his notepad. "Some new game their friends have. Boy finds his sister talking to a police officer. Maybe our guy didn't realize the brother was so close by."

"Wouldn't make sense," Casey argued. "He'd have watched the parents and kids come in. Probably the father and son came in separately, trailing or something."

Jordan nodded. "So, the boy finds his sister talking to a cop. According to the little girl, the officer tells the kids that one of them needs to come with him to meet their mom while the other one waits there."

"And the kids don't question that?"

Jordan glanced at his notebook and shook his head. "Doesn't look like it. All I've got is that the little boy insisted he should be the one to go. Wanted to be a cop when he grew up."

Casey pictured the little boy fighting his sister for the honor of going with the cop. "Guess the girl's lucky she didn't have aspirations for law enforcement," Casey said, trying to lighten the fierce nausea in her gut. "And the mother?"

Jordan nodded without comment.

"How similar?"

"I've got a picture in the car—similar enough. And I figured out why they all look like you."

"What do you mean?"

"Karen and Jeanette Allister."

She remembered Jordan telling her his theory after seeing the crime scene photos. "You got pictures of them?"

He nodded.

"We look alike?"

"There's a resemblance."

Casey digested that and nodded. There was nothing more to say. Leonardo still had her in his sights, and now she knew why. Dismissing the tight knot in her stomach, she returned her attention to the scene. "When did the body turn up?"

"A couple of early joggers stumbled across it this morning at about seven. I got here an hour or so before you."

"A quicker turnaround than the other victims," Casey commented. Leonardo had never seemed like someone who liked to be rushed. Was he getting bored? She knew there was a pattern, a method of some sort. She needed to home in on it to learn where and when the next would happen—to be there before it did. "This makes five?" she asked, starting up toward the body.

"Yep," Jordan said.

Up on the hill, the huddle of people worked like a pack of wolves around the body, taking pictures, dusting for prints, collecting anything they could find. It was one of the more organized scenes she'd seen. A slender Chinese man in a carefully pressed white lab jacket ordered his team around with quick, easy directions.

Standing on the edge of the crowd, Casey took in the sight of the body. She hadn't been on the scene of a child death for over two years. Even when she'd seen one every few months, it had always been the worst type of job. The first thing Casey noticed about this boy was the blue party hat that had been propped on top of his lifeless face. "The hat is the same color as the one you found on your son at the Warriors game?"

Jordan stared back at the hat and shivered. He didn't have an answer.

"Not many more colors in the rainbow," Casey said.

Jordan nodded. "I had Renee check. The hat only comes in six colors."

"It probably won't end when he runs out of colors," she said softly.

Jordan nodded in agreement, but Casey could tell that he had hoped maybe the end of the rainbow would bring the end of the deaths.

"We've got a whole set of those things now," the Chinese man said.

Almost, Casey thought. One left.

Jordan motioned to him. "This is Al Ting, head of the crime scene team."

With her hands shoved in her pockets, Casey said hello. His own hands covered in medical gloves, Ting made no move to shake.

"And Ray Zambotti, our medical examiner," Jordan said, pointing her in the opposite direction.

Casey swung around, and the short balding man practically grabbed her hand right out of her pocket to pump it heavily. "Good to meet you. Great day, isn't it?"

Unlatching her hand, she nodded and replaced the now sore fist in her pocket. Traveling around the country to crime scenes, Casey could safely say she'd met all types. But the medical examiners were often the oddest.

Jordan lifted the sheet that had been draped over the body. "We have the same components as the priors. Duct tape, a standard white sheet, rope. All of it matches."

"Got some nail scrapings this time," Ting said.

Jordan nodded. "Right. Looks like there might be some tissue under the nails."

Casey looked at the paper bags tied over the boy's hands to preserve whatever might be beneath his nails. She suspected it would turn out to be the child's own tissue if anything at all.

"How about cause of death?" Casey asked.

"Looks the same as the others."

"I'll know more when I can get in there," the medical examiner added a bit too enthusiastically.

Casey gave him a strange stare.

He returned a little shrug.

Jordan rolled his eyes and brought the focus back to the victim. "We've got less mutilation than in the prior cases—he's got a couple broken fingers is all."

Casey frowned. It didn't sound right. "You sure it's the same guy and not a copycat?"

Jordan nodded. "Positive."

"How?"

Pointing to the boy's thigh, Jordan explained, "You can see his standard mark—here on the thigh."

Casey glanced at the marks and felt a stabbing pain rip through her fingers. It was agony reborn from memory. She glanced away and then forced her eyes back to the wound. She could feel the knife on her thigh as though it were fresh.

With her hands tucked under her arms, she pushed her arms down until she could feel the pain in her hands from the pressure. Somehow, the physical reminder was a relief from the excruciating pain in her memory.

"Maybe he was rushed," Jordan offered.

Casey looked at the boy and shook her head. "I don't think so. This killer doesn't put himself in a position to be rushed when he takes a child. From what you've said about the circumstances, it's more likely that the boy wasn't the original target."

"He wanted the girl, you mean," Jordan said.

"It seems like it. That, or he's saving himself for the next one. Maybe he even has the next one already." She was thinking out loud, hoping something would fall in place.

"You think he's saving himself for a finale?"

Casey thought about the last color in the rainbow—purple. It was the color of power. Wasn't he exerting his power over all of them? She wondered who he would choose for the rainbow's finale. If all the children's mothers looked like Casey, it only made sense that Casey would be his ultimate victim. Or Casey's child. Amy? Was Amy in danger? She was so far away. But why go from killing adults in Cincinnati to killing children whose mothers looked alike, unless Casey herself was the key? Damn, she couldn't find an answer.

"Casey?" Jordan repeated. "Are you okay?"

Pulling herself back, she nodded and ran her hands over her arms, fighting off the chill. She forced herself to concentrate on the case. She had put the crime scene photos aside before studying all of them. "These marks, they've been on each of the victims?"

Jordan nodded. "We're not sure about the girl from the fire, but the others, yes."

Casey knelt beside the boy and studied the marks. "They're not done freehand."

The medical examiner scurried up behind her. "What do you mean?" he asked, his face only inches from her own.

Jordan, too, leaned in to take a closer look.

"Can I get gloves?" She wanted to touch the boy's skin, but skin was a wonderful surface for fingerprints, and she didn't want to leave hers.

Jordan handed her a pair, and she pulled them on, awkwardly. Kneeling in the grass, she ran her finger across the surface of the cut. "It's an
L
in the center for Leonardo, and the sideways figure eight is the sign for infinity. It's his way of saying Leonardo forever. See how perfect they are. I think he's got an instrument for this."

"No way," Zambotti hollered in her ear.

Casey cringed.

"Settle down, Ray," Jordan said.

"I studied them against an entire file of scalpel cuts I have," Zambotti retorted. "They're nearly a perfect match to a sixteenth-inch scalpel."

"Maybe nearly, but not perfect," Casey said. "If you compare each mark to the others, you'll notice they're too similar to be freehand."

"What are you saying, Casey?" Jordan asked, laying his hand on her shoulder.

"I'm saying it's some sort of cookie cut he does on the victim. He didn't do it on the first three victims in Cincinnati, but it showed up on the fourth. I believe he does it in two parts. The infinity sign first, and then the
L
for Leonardo when he's done with his work. His signature if you will."

"Two parts?" Ray asked.

Casey nodded.

"How do you know?" Jordan continued, ignoring Zambotti.

She turned to Jordan and lowered her voice. "I've seen it before."

"It's impossible to tell from that," Ray muttered.

"Where have you seen it?" Jordan pressed.

Casey looked around. Everyone had stopped what they were doing, and they were all turned toward her, listening.

"Yeah, where have you seen it?" Ray echoed.

Casey stood and touched the fly of her jeans. It was a hell of a lot easier to open them than it would be to get them done up again. Cursing, she pulled the fly free and pushed her jeans to her ankles. Then, turning her leg toward Zambotti and Jordan, she pointed to the sideways figure eight on her thigh.

"Holy shit," Zambotti said, reaching to touch her leg.

She punched his hand away, and he jumped back. "It's only the infinity sign on me." She looked at her audience. "He obviously never got a chance to finish."

Chapter 28