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Authors: Susanne Matthews
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apartments, I’ve asked them to send in a forensic team. If they find what I hope they don’t, we’ll have our first break. I sure as hell hope I’m wrong. The police have put out an APB on her car, a late-model Toyota, and on her dog. It’s a purebred English bulldog registered with the American Kennel Club.”
“Are you sending NYPD what we have?”
Tom shrugged. “Send them what? We don’t have anything; Mary’s disappearance isn’t even our case. Before we jump the gun and send out information related to the Harvester, we should run this by Pierce. He is the FBI liaison. Let’s see if the bleach concentration and the rest of it fits. If it does, we’ll know our killer has a live one, and we can go from there.”
Rob ran his hand through his hair, unable to keep what he’d learned tonight to himself any longer. “Let’s assume we’re right, and the bleach matches. Fifteen months without a lead and now, bam! Within four hours we have another victim, a second murder, Lucy Green, and a missing woman who’s vanished under the same circumstances as the Harvester’s victims.” Excitement filled him as he voiced his thoughts, and his heart hammered. “Someone screwed up, Tom. That’s the only thing that makes sense. Whoever killed Lucy Green just handed us the brass ring.”
And I’ll make damn sure he doesn’t get it back.
Tom scratched his head and looked at him. “What brass ring? What are you talking about?”
“Faye. I’m talking about Faye. I learned something from her that’s given me a whole new perspective on the case.” Rob pulled the forensic photographs of the three Harvester victims out of the folder and spread them on his desk. “Look at them. What do you see?”
Tom stared at the pictures. “Young, white women, slender, good skin tone, attractive … Throw me a bone here. What am I looking for?”
“Something’s been bothering me for weeks now every time I look at that file. They look alike, Tom, not just in death because of the nightgowns, the poses, and the hairstyle. Look at the before pictures.” He took them out of the folder and placed them on the desk next to the others. “Even with dissimilar hair color, dressed differently, smiling or serious, they still bear an amazing resemblance to one another.”
“Hell, Rob, we saw that. It’s part of the profile the BAU gave us, but it only means he’s particular about the type of woman he chooses. And don’t forget, she has to be pregnant, too. There are thousands of women living in the United States who bear a superficial resemblance to one another.” He indicated the photographs. “These women are all average—average height, weight, you name it. There is nothing spectacular about any of them. Hell, we’re all supposed to have a twin somewhere. I’ve often mistaken a stranger for someone I know.”
“There’s more to it than that, and I think Mary’s the key. All of these women were single and lived alone. All three of them were self-employed—an artist, a novelist, and a medical transcriber. They all worked out of their homes. None of them had regular boyfriends. According to her family, Tracy Volt had planned to enter a convent, and yet she and the others all got pregnant. How? They didn’t do the club scene, didn’t go to the gym, didn’t even live in the same damn city or town. Once we found the bodies, we realized all the apartments had been sanitized—cleaned with bleach, fridge emptied so nothing would spoil, everything turned off to conserve energy. We couldn’t find a single commonality among them. Now look at Mary’s picture.”
Tom chewed his lower lips. “I’ll concede that she looks a lot like the others, but she’s not his type. Her hair’s short, and she’s heavier. If the apartment’s been cleaned the same way, you might be onto something—what exactly, I’m not sure. Where are you going with this?”
“What if I told you Mary’s gay?”
Tom let out a low whistle. “But
“Are you sending NYPD what we have?”
Tom shrugged. “Send them what? We don’t have anything; Mary’s disappearance isn’t even our case. Before we jump the gun and send out information related to the Harvester, we should run this by Pierce. He is the FBI liaison. Let’s see if the bleach concentration and the rest of it fits. If it does, we’ll know our killer has a live one, and we can go from there.”
Rob ran his hand through his hair, unable to keep what he’d learned tonight to himself any longer. “Let’s assume we’re right, and the bleach matches. Fifteen months without a lead and now, bam! Within four hours we have another victim, a second murder, Lucy Green, and a missing woman who’s vanished under the same circumstances as the Harvester’s victims.” Excitement filled him as he voiced his thoughts, and his heart hammered. “Someone screwed up, Tom. That’s the only thing that makes sense. Whoever killed Lucy Green just handed us the brass ring.”
And I’ll make damn sure he doesn’t get it back.
Tom scratched his head and looked at him. “What brass ring? What are you talking about?”
“Faye. I’m talking about Faye. I learned something from her that’s given me a whole new perspective on the case.” Rob pulled the forensic photographs of the three Harvester victims out of the folder and spread them on his desk. “Look at them. What do you see?”
Tom stared at the pictures. “Young, white women, slender, good skin tone, attractive … Throw me a bone here. What am I looking for?”
“Something’s been bothering me for weeks now every time I look at that file. They look alike, Tom, not just in death because of the nightgowns, the poses, and the hairstyle. Look at the before pictures.” He took them out of the folder and placed them on the desk next to the others. “Even with dissimilar hair color, dressed differently, smiling or serious, they still bear an amazing resemblance to one another.”
“Hell, Rob, we saw that. It’s part of the profile the BAU gave us, but it only means he’s particular about the type of woman he chooses. And don’t forget, she has to be pregnant, too. There are thousands of women living in the United States who bear a superficial resemblance to one another.” He indicated the photographs. “These women are all average—average height, weight, you name it. There is nothing spectacular about any of them. Hell, we’re all supposed to have a twin somewhere. I’ve often mistaken a stranger for someone I know.”
“There’s more to it than that, and I think Mary’s the key. All of these women were single and lived alone. All three of them were self-employed—an artist, a novelist, and a medical transcriber. They all worked out of their homes. None of them had regular boyfriends. According to her family, Tracy Volt had planned to enter a convent, and yet she and the others all got pregnant. How? They didn’t do the club scene, didn’t go to the gym, didn’t even live in the same damn city or town. Once we found the bodies, we realized all the apartments had been sanitized—cleaned with bleach, fridge emptied so nothing would spoil, everything turned off to conserve energy. We couldn’t find a single commonality among them. Now look at Mary’s picture.”
Tom chewed his lower lips. “I’ll concede that she looks a lot like the others, but she’s not his type. Her hair’s short, and she’s heavier. If the apartment’s been cleaned the same way, you might be onto something—what exactly, I’m not sure. Where are you going with this?”
“What if I told you Mary’s gay?”
Tom let out a low whistle. “But
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