he’s forced to work for them, that his livelihood is dependent on people he thinks are less than he. That they can’t see his brilliance marks them all as fools. This is how he retaliates. He’s showing
them
who has the power. He’s showing them who’s really in charge.”
“And you don’t see that here?” Evan tapped on the photos of the last three victims.
“Not at all. Where are the symbols of purity, of innocence? He’s tried to make them look the same as the others, I think in an effort to fool the police. To make you think this is all the work of the same man. So far, he’s succeeding.”
“You feel that strongly about this?”
“There is no question in my mind.” She studied his face. “I’m sensing a lot of resistance here, Evan. Why so reluctant?”
“If I take this in to the office, I have to be able to convince the chief of detectives that there are two killers, not one, out there targeting young girls. Yet I have no DNA, no trace, nothing, to distinguish the crimes.”
“Want me to write a memo or something outlining why?”
“Sort of like a note from my mother to give to my teacher?”
“You’re the one who’s pressing here.”
“Maybe a memo would help,” he conceded. “And keep in mind that right now there is no link. We’re still waiting for the lab results from the first two vics.”
“What’s taking so long?” She closed the file and set it on the table near the photos.
“It’s a small lab, only a few techs. They’re doing their best, but this is not the only open case in the county right now.”
“Why not send what you have to the Bureau’s lab?”
“What’s the timetable there?”
“Depends on who’s asking.” Annie grinned.
“Suppose you asked . . .”
“We’d have the results in a week, maybe better.”
“And if I asked?”
“What year is it now?”
“So how do we get you involved?”
“I write that memo, you give it to your chief, tell him we can get the evidence expedited if only he asks. I can take it from there.”
“You have friends at the lab?”
“You betcha.”
“What’s your take on this possible second killer? You’re pretty specific about the first one; how do you peg this other killer that no one sees but you?”
“I’m still working on that.” She stood and stretched, then took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “I thought maybe I’d sleep on it.”
“Excellent idea. I think I’ll sleep on it, too.” He tugged her toward the steps leading up. “I’m thinking maybe between the two of us, we should be able to come up with something . . .”
8
Evan sat on the edge of the desk in the medical examiner’s office, reading through the autopsy report of Caitlin McGill and last night’s unnamed victim, and waited for the M.E. to finish washing up.
“So the throats were definitely slashed with different blades?”
“Definitely.” The county M.E., Agnes Jenkins, washed her hands at the sink in the far corner of her office. “Not even close. The knife used on the schoolgirls was thin and finely sharpened. The knife used on the unidentified girls was thicker, duller. Different width.”
“What do you think of two different killers?”
She reached for a roll of paper towels to dry her hands.
“I think it’s highly likely. As a matter of fact, I’d bet on it. The schoolgirls—let’s call them the group-one victims, just for the purpose of this conversation—had been, for the most part, still in possession of their hymens before the attacks. Not so the unidentified girls—the group-two vics, if you will. Internal examination showed that these girls were no novices.”
“Prostitutes?”
“That, or they were real party girls.” She frowned. “They were pretty young, though. Hard to tell for certain; their teeth weren’t well cared for and two of them showed evidence of old healed fractures. And all three of them were small, physically. I’d guess from poor nutrition at some time in their life,
them
who has the power. He’s showing them who’s really in charge.”
“And you don’t see that here?” Evan tapped on the photos of the last three victims.
“Not at all. Where are the symbols of purity, of innocence? He’s tried to make them look the same as the others, I think in an effort to fool the police. To make you think this is all the work of the same man. So far, he’s succeeding.”
“You feel that strongly about this?”
“There is no question in my mind.” She studied his face. “I’m sensing a lot of resistance here, Evan. Why so reluctant?”
“If I take this in to the office, I have to be able to convince the chief of detectives that there are two killers, not one, out there targeting young girls. Yet I have no DNA, no trace, nothing, to distinguish the crimes.”
“Want me to write a memo or something outlining why?”
“Sort of like a note from my mother to give to my teacher?”
“You’re the one who’s pressing here.”
“Maybe a memo would help,” he conceded. “And keep in mind that right now there is no link. We’re still waiting for the lab results from the first two vics.”
“What’s taking so long?” She closed the file and set it on the table near the photos.
“It’s a small lab, only a few techs. They’re doing their best, but this is not the only open case in the county right now.”
“Why not send what you have to the Bureau’s lab?”
“What’s the timetable there?”
“Depends on who’s asking.” Annie grinned.
“Suppose you asked . . .”
“We’d have the results in a week, maybe better.”
“And if I asked?”
“What year is it now?”
“So how do we get you involved?”
“I write that memo, you give it to your chief, tell him we can get the evidence expedited if only he asks. I can take it from there.”
“You have friends at the lab?”
“You betcha.”
“What’s your take on this possible second killer? You’re pretty specific about the first one; how do you peg this other killer that no one sees but you?”
“I’m still working on that.” She stood and stretched, then took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “I thought maybe I’d sleep on it.”
“Excellent idea. I think I’ll sleep on it, too.” He tugged her toward the steps leading up. “I’m thinking maybe between the two of us, we should be able to come up with something . . .”
8
Evan sat on the edge of the desk in the medical examiner’s office, reading through the autopsy report of Caitlin McGill and last night’s unnamed victim, and waited for the M.E. to finish washing up.
“So the throats were definitely slashed with different blades?”
“Definitely.” The county M.E., Agnes Jenkins, washed her hands at the sink in the far corner of her office. “Not even close. The knife used on the schoolgirls was thin and finely sharpened. The knife used on the unidentified girls was thicker, duller. Different width.”
“What do you think of two different killers?”
She reached for a roll of paper towels to dry her hands.
“I think it’s highly likely. As a matter of fact, I’d bet on it. The schoolgirls—let’s call them the group-one victims, just for the purpose of this conversation—had been, for the most part, still in possession of their hymens before the attacks. Not so the unidentified girls—the group-two vics, if you will. Internal examination showed that these girls were no novices.”
“Prostitutes?”
“That, or they were real party girls.” She frowned. “They were pretty young, though. Hard to tell for certain; their teeth weren’t well cared for and two of them showed evidence of old healed fractures. And all three of them were small, physically. I’d guess from poor nutrition at some time in their life,
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