Will put up Brandi’s photograph. She was an unnatural platinum blonde with another winning smile and huge brown eyes. “There was a witness in Brandi’s homicide. An elderly woman across the street gave a description of a man leaving Brandi’s duplex to canvassing officers. From that, Robin McKenna, a friend and colleague of the victim, identified Theodore Glenn, a regular patron of the club who had dated both Bethany and Brandi.”
“The wounds on the bodies look different,” Carina interjected. “The cuts on Bethany’s body are a mess, blood smeared. On Brandi they look like they were cleaned. Did he wash the victims after killing them?”
“Good guess, but no,” Will said. His jaw tensed as he imagined what Brandi had suffered in the final minutes before Glenn slit her throat. “He poured bleach over her body.”
“To destroy evidence?”
“Possibly.” He paused. “The bleach was poured over the wounds while his victims were still alive.”
Carina shivered as if she’d heard nails scratch on a chalkboard. It would have felt like being burned alive to the victims. It had the added benefit of destroying potential evidence.
Will continued. “We pulled Glenn in for an interview and court-ordered DNA test, based on Robin McKenna’s identification. The killer had left DNA at the scene of the first murder-three strands of hair, pulled from Glenn’s scalp as Bethany struggled.” He took a deep breath. This was the part that was totally fucked. “We had him. We had him in custody and we had the DNA test. We handed the case to the D.A.’s office. Immediately, the case was thrown out.”
“Why?” one of the newer cops asked.
“The criminalists had come directly from another homicide. The DNA collected at the scene was contaminated: the hair samples got mixed with hair samples from the other crime. Descario tossed out both cases. Without the DNA, we had nothing to tie Theodore Glenn to the murders.”
“What about the witness?” Carina asked.
“The D.A. didn’t feel she was reliable.” Will shook his head. “And as much as I hate to admit it, Descario was right on that point. The woman was eighty and in a lineup she couldn’t pick out Glenn. Going from a secondhand identification off the sketch-no jury would have convicted him. We had to let him go.” That had been one of the worst days of Will’s life: knowing he had a killer behind bars and having to let him out. He’d never forget the smug expression of victory on that bastard’s face.
“How did you connect the two killings? If you couldn’t use the DNA from the first murder, and bleach was used in the second, how did you make the connection?” Carina asked, curious.
“A similar M.O. The multitude of small, painful cuts with the same type of knife. The way the hands and feet were bound. The slit throat with a double-edged blade. And the victims were dancers at the same club.” Will paused. “Glenn must have realized he’d screwed up with Bethany Coleman, and that’s why he used the bleach at Brandi Bell’s crime scene. Even if he left trace evidence there, the bleach would have corrupted any DNA samples.”
One of the cops in the back shook his head and lamented, “Because of all those forensics shows, killers are becoming smarter.”
Will shrugged. “Perhaps, but remember this was seven years ago. Those shows didn’t have the impact on criminals and jurors that they might have today.”
Will put up Jessica’s picture. A brunette. “You can see that Glenn has no preference as to type: Bethany and Brandi were Caucasian, Jessica a Latina. What they had in common were their good looks, and all were strippers at RJ’s.”
“And hadn’t each victim dated Glenn at some point?” Carina asked.
“All but his last, Anna Clark.”
“If you knew Glenn was the killer, why didn’t we follow him?” she asked.
“We did, but-” Will didn’t want to get into it. He wasn’t about to publicly criticize his former partner. Water under the bridge. Frank was no longer a cop. He could do no more damage.
“Anyway,” Will continued as if the question wasn’t asked, “Glenn had a loose alibi for Jessica’s murder, which was one month after Brandi was killed. We were all over him at the time, pulled him into interview, but again had no hard evidence. A week after Jessica, he killed Anna Clark. He shook our tail.”
He put Anna’s picture up. Black hair, blue eyes, and porcelain skin. Sweet. And in death? He put up the crime scene photo. In death she was another mangled body, another crime victim in a police file.
He took a deep breath.
“The crime scene is a mess,” Carina said. “What happened?”
“Anna’s roommate came home and tripped over the body in the dark.” Will’s stomach lurched, picturing Robin in the dark, slipping and falling in Anna’s blood. When he’d arrived at the scene only minutes later she had been huddled and shaking outside her apartment door, holding a cat drenched in his owner’s blood. “In fact, the entire scene was compromised. But Glenn was careless this time: though he bleached Anna’s body, several of his hairs were found in Anna’s fist.”
“What about sexual assault?” Carina asked. She’d been flipping through the files, reading the reports.
“None,” Will said. “He didn’t rape or have sex with his victims immediately prior to their murders. He did have consensual sex with all the victims, with the possible exception of Anna Clark, weeks or months before their deaths. Anna Clark was a lesbian. She wouldn’t have had consensual sex with Glenn.”
“He doesn’t sound like your garden variety serial killer,” Carina said.
“He isn’t,” Will said. “He’s smart. Very smart. Do not underestimate Theodore Glenn.”
“Next step?” Carina asked.
Will turned to Diaz. “You finish the warning calls to witnesses. I want the rest of you to split the city and start canvassing motels, hotels, and dive apartments that rent by the week. Flash Glenn’s picture around to anyone and everyone. If everyone is looking for him, he can’t hide for long.”
“You really think he’s going to come here and not try to leave the country?”
“I know it.”
Trinity Lange listened intently to Chief Causey’s bland, perfunctory report to the press on Theodore Glenn’s escape and the subsequent response of the San Diego Police Department.
She had better information off CNN and Fox News. She glanced behind Causey to where Detective Will Hooper stood, deceptively casual. He was watching the crowd. Looking for Glenn? Feeling out the audience?
What did the cops know that they weren’t telling?
Trinity had made a name for herself as a crime reporter, starting as a freelancer and working her way up to a star reporter with her own monthly show. She’d had every major law enforcement officer from the Attorney General down to the smallest police chief on her television program, and her ratings continued to grow. It was just a matter of time before she had New York knocking at her door.
She didn’t honestly believe that Theodore Glenn would show his face in San Diego. She’d followed the trial closely, listened to him, even interviewed him in lockup. He wasn’t a dumb criminal. But on the off chance that he did show up, Trinity wanted to be there. Reporting the news before anyone else.
That meant knowing what the cops knew. And they always knew more than they told the press.
Her hand shot up. Causey called on another reporter.
“Jerk,” she mumbled, keeping her hand in the air.
“Chief Causey,” the reporter asked, “are you alerting prostitutes to be cautious now that Glenn has escaped?”
Causey seemed at a loss. He said, “Glenn targeted women with whom he’d had a previous relationship. Our primary concern is for individuals he specifically threatened at his trial. We are contacting everyone involved in the trial, and going from there. All units are on alert, and we’re working closely with the California Highway Patrol and federal authorities to track the known movements of Theodore Glenn. As I said at the beginning, Glenn was spotted in Fresno late last night and is suspected of stealing a 2004 white Honda Accord.”
Causey picked someone else. What was with him? She looked at Will, tried to catch his eye. He looked over at her, gave her a half grin, then turned his attention back to Causey.
