'Excuse me?'
'The killer. It's probably more convenient and much easier to transport and display the heads, but is he making a statement? Is he telling us something by leaving only the heads?'
Adam shook his head. 'Always on duty,' he said with another smile.
'It's a habit.' But she tried not to make it sound like it was an excuse. She loved her work. Anyone who knew her accepted that. Perhaps she expected that anyone who wanted to know her would also need to accept it.
'The head's about as personal as you can get. As for what kind of a message he's sending, well, that's your expertise. One thing that has been nagging at me' he said, laying his hands flat on the top of the picnic table, 'is the angle. He didn't just cut straight across her neck.' His fingers emphasized his point, the right hand's index finger moving along the surface in a straight line. 'Instead, he cut from just below the left ear __ ' and he brought the same index finger to his own throat to demonstrate the angle ' __ went across, dipped down and back up, almost like a notch.'
'Does it mean anything?'
'I have no idea.'
'Could it just be a part of his rage, a glitch, a haphazard zigzag?'
'Possibly. But it's exactly the same on both. The rest of the neck is jagged and ripped in sort of a maniacal style and yet here's this very precise, squared-off notch at the base of the throat. It's just odd. It seems out of place. You might have the M.E. check to see if the third has the same thing.'
'Yes, I'll do that.' She let it sink in, trying to figure out what kind of symbol the killer might be leaving behind. Adam was watching her again.
'The national forensic conference is in D.C. next month. I'll be spending over a week there for the conference and also doing a little work at the Smithsonian. How about having dinner with me?'
This time his smile wasn't quite as self-assured. His soft brown eyes seemed a bit vulnerable, and Maggie wondered if it had taken some effort for him to get to this invitation. Was it possible the handsome, outspoken professor thought he was as inept at this flirting thing as she was? Before she answered, he added, 'I promise I won't even try to break any of your habits.'
She couldn't help smiling. 'And I promise I won't ask a single severed-head question.'
Maggie's cell phone started ringing.
'Excuse me a minute,' she said, flipping open the phone. 'This is Maggie O'Dell.'
'O'Dell, glad I reached you. Sorry to interrupt your holiday.'
It was her boss, Assistant Director Cunningham. She could hear papers shuffling and imagined him at his desk, multitasking as he cradled the phone between his neck and shoulder. No holiday for him. She waved an apology to Bonzado as she got up from the table and wandered away for some privacy.
'Actually, I'm working today, sir. Detective Racine and I brought the first two Jane Doe heads up to Connecticut for Professor Bonzado to take a look at.'
'Is it conclusive that the three murders were done by the same killer?'
Just like Cunningham __ straight to the point. She had gotten used to his abrupt, unemotional manner. There was more flipping of pages and Maggie could hear what sounded like a TV in the background. Maybe he wasn't in his office.
'It's too early to be positive,' she told him, but she knew he'd still want to hear her first impressions. So she continued, 'All the decapitations look very similar. We're talking rage. The guy rips and cuts in a frenzy. Bonzado thinks he uses a hatchet or machete. He's disorganized during the killings or at least he feels safe enough to go into a rage, The decapitation must happen almost immediately after he strangles them. But then he's able to compose himself and plan the dumps. I'm still not sure I have any idea what he does with the torsos.'
'Sounds like you're off to a good start. I hate to pull you away from this, but I don't have another available agent, especially with Agent Tully still on vacation. Everyone else is out of town on assignment and I have another case that needs a profiler. The body's been autopsied already, but they could hold it for another day. Do you have enough to put together a profile for Detective Racine and Chief Henderson?'
'It'd be pretty sketchy, but yes, I could do a preliminary.'
'Good. That'll give them a start. Hold on a minute.'
This time Maggie could hear voices in the background and Cunningham answering them, telling someone he would be there in five minutes. Was this urgent enough that he would be calling from his home? Maggie couldn't even imagine it. For one thing, she couldn't imagine Cunningham at home, although she knew he had a wife. There were never any photos or personal items on his well-organized desk or anywhere in his office to suggest a life outside that office. With anyone else it would seem odd. With Cunningham it seemed quite natural that after ten years she wouldn't even know where he lived, whether he had a three-bedroom house in the suburbs or an upscale apartment in Georgetown.
'Actually I need you on a flight tomorrow morning,' he said before she realized he was back talking to her.
'Where am I going, sir?'
'Omaha, Nebraska.'
CHAPTER 30
Tommy Pakula hated everything about these events _ the crowds, the noise and the heat, ail served up with warm beer and entertainers from the '60s, entertainers who had become parodies of themselves. Although he had to admit Frankie Avalon still looked pretty damn good for his age, if only he'd left those silly white shoes at home.
What Pakula especially hated was the hotshot public officials slapping him on the back, pretending __ when they were really hoping __ that he was one of them. He didn't know how Chief Ramsey put up with it, either. But as hometown boys __ Pakula a graduate of South High, Ramsey of Creighton Prep, but about five or six years before Pakula __ they both had to put up with it to a certain degree. The chief more so than Pakula, because he had left Omaha for almost a decade for greener pastures before finding his way back home and working through the red tape of politics and good ole boy networks. As hometown boys they knew about the hometown politics, too. And that's exactly why they were trying to discuss police procedure, or rather protocol, out here in the middle of a crowded park rather than some quiet coffee shop clear across town. They figured no one would ever suspect they'd talk about something so important on a sunny holiday weekend, in the middle of Memorial Park where the entire northwest lawn was riddled with blankets and lawn chairs, ice chests and portable umbrellas, leaving only narrow strips of grass on which to make your way through the maze.
They had left their families somewhere in the sea of red, white and blue with the simple excuse of finding something cold to drink. Vendors lined the circular drive around the monument at the top of the park, away from the blankets and almost out of reach of the half-dozen seven-foot amplifiers Frankie and crew had brought along. Pakula ordered a kraut-dog with the works and a tall, bucket-size Coke, while the chief settled on less indigestion with a plain dog and a tall bucket of his own, only Dew instead of Coke.
'Not sure why you want to waste your money on that.' Pakula nodded at Chief Ramsey's pathetic hot dog swallowed by a bun and drowning in mustard while Pakula bit into his own, piled high and wide.
'Yeah, ask me that later when you're popping the antacids.'
Chief Ramsey eyed a couple of teenagers on bicycles scoping the terrain below as if they might attempt to ride down into the crowd. Pakula recognized the habit and caught himself checking out a double-parked van with its back doors left swinging open but the owner nowhere in sight. It bugged Clare and she continuously accused him of not listening to her just because he wasn't looking at her. But with two cops it wasn't unusual at all to carry on a complete, detailed conversation without ever making eye contact.
'There's something you need to know, Tommy.' Chief Ramsey glanced at him, but his eyes were quickly gone, now checking out something behind Pakula, off to the right. 'Vice has had an eye on O'Sullivan and Our Lady of Sorrow.'
