Her mouth dropped open. She sat there staring at it, her mind instantly numb. “Oh, my god” escaped her lips before she realized her cell phone was ringing.
She flashed on all the evidence they had thus far gathered from each of the crime scenes, each piece a part of the puzzle she was attempting to assemble. But there was no guide. No framework. And therefore no reference point by which to fit the pieces.
Until now.
She pulled the handset from her pocket and answered it, her mind still tumbling over the riddle. “Vail.”
“Karen, it’s Thomas Underwood. I hope you don’t mind me sticking my nose into your case, but I think I’ve got something.”
Her brain was still crunching data and she was only half listening. “Not a problem. . . .”
“The message left by the offender. You were right to think it means ‘It’s in the blood.’ The blood’s the key. But it’s not a blood borne disease, it’s—”
“Genes,” she said.
“That’s right,” Underwood said. “You figured it out?”
“Just now.” She sat there, phone in hand, the shock of the surprise beginning to settle in. “And I know something else, too. I think I know who our UNSUB is.”
Vail turned over the metal box and dumped the contents onto a clean, plastic garbage bag. She slipped her hands into a pair of latex gloves Robby had in his desk drawer and began sifting through the items one at a time, hoping to unearth something that would help her find what she was looking for.
She discovered several other dog-eared photos of Emma and Nellie, most of which contained images of people she did not know. But on one of the pictures there was a small object hanging from both Emma’s and Nellie’s necklaces.
Vail picked up the gold locket she had found in the metal box and stared at it, hoping to find an inscription. There was nothing. But with the lab’s color enlargement now sitting beside her, there was no doubt this locket was an identical match for the one found shoved into Linwood’s rectum . . . and possibly for the objects dangling from the necklaces in the old photo, as well.
Had Vail been wearing spurs, and had she been able to kick herself, she would have done so. She had been virtually blind to something so obvious. That she hadn’t seen it ate at her and ran contrary to what she prided herself on: that she knew the human psyche, could read it and evaluate it and predict certain things about it. But in this case she had been no better than a blind person who couldn’t read Braille. Because like all cases, there was a key that unlocked the killer’s secrets. She’d held the key—the locket—but had not realized it.
Vail put the photo aside, then continued to thumb through the spilled contents of the metal box. Something grabbed her attention: an envelope containing a scrawled note to Emma from Nellie: “Here’s the photo Patrick took of us. See you soon. Love, Nell.” Vail felt excitement well up in her chest.
She found a box of plastic bags in the kitchen and slipped the photo and envelope in their own Ziploc containers. She taped the metal box closed, then dialed Bledsoe and asked if he was seated.
“I’m in my car, I better be seated.”
“Then pull over.”
“Pull over? That good, huh?”
“How much do you want to break Dead Eyes?”
“More than any other case I’ve ever had. Why, you got something?”
“I got the killer, Bledsoe. At least, I got a first name and possibly a whole lot more.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Would I shit you on something like this?”
“Don’t hold out on me, Karen. Who is it?”
Vail closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and told him.
“No way,” Bledsoe said. “Are you sure?”
“Very sure. I connected the dots. And he fits my profile. It all makes sense, which it should, whenever you look at the suspect in retrospect, right?”
“Karen, I’m sorry.”
“I never met the man, Bledsoe. It is what it is. I have no feelings either way. Let’s just bag him before he kills again.”
“You said you had a name.”
“First name is Patrick. If he was the same age as Linwood at the time, my guess is he was born in the mid- nineteen-forties.”
“That’s a big assumption, but it’s a start. I’ll get everyone on it, see how many Patricks born in the mid- nineteen-forties show up on any of our lists. You said you’ve got other stuff, too?”
“I’ve got an envelope and a photo he may’ve handled. Might get some latents, possibly DNA.”
“Latents would be great. I’ve got a feeling this guy’s been in the system. If I’m right, the prints’ll get us his last name, then we’re off to the races. Where are you?”
“I’m at Robby’s. I’ve gotta go by the lab to drop off the evidence. I should be back here around eleven thirty.”
“Don’t go home. Meet us at the op center.”
“Oh, my other home.”
“And Karen . . . good work.”
VAIL ARRIVED AT THE OP CENTER at a quarter to twelve, having been awake for nearly eighteen hours. But she did not feel fatigued. She had been running scenarios and trying to match her profile to what she knew about her father—which was nothing. She had called Tim Meadows and told him she had crucial evidence in the Dead Eyes case that needed to be analyzed immediately.
“Judging by what you’re bringing me, we’ll need a latent person, an image enhancer, somebody in Questioned Documents . . . I’ll have to get three people on this if you want it done yesterday.”
“Tell them I said thanks.”
“Oh, that’ll go real far.”
“Then tell them the faster we get these results the faster we’ll have a suspect in custody.”
“They’ve heard it a million times, Karen. But I’ll take care of it. We’ll do the latents first, see if we get any immediate hits. We’ll take good care of you,” he told her. When she arrived at headquarters, one of the lab techs met her at the front entrance, took the materials, and did not say a word. He was clearly unhappy about having to work through the night.
But her reception at the op center was vastly different. When Vail walked in, she got high fives from everyone—including Del Monaco, who, because of the late hour, was uncharacteristically dressed down in sweats. Vail didn’t think it possible, but by comparison his round physique looked better in a suit.
“Guess we can pull that tail off Hancock,” Bledsoe said, running a black magic marker through Hancock’s name, eliminating him from their suspect list. “Let’s connect some dots.”
Vail settled into an empty chair near Del Monaco. “Okay. Here’s my theory: my biological mother, Eleanor Linwood, knew my father was bad news. She told as much when I went to see her. If this Patrick was my father, and he was involved with Linwood, either through marriage or some live-in arrangement, she might have taken me from my father without his knowledge. Another if, but if that was the case, it makes sense he was pissed as hell at Linwood. It’d be something he’d never forget.”
