“Taylor, you and I know this guy isn’t about sex. He’s just some strange little man that feels he needs to make a point. There’s never been any violence before now.”
“Do you think he’s going to keep at it?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Let me ask you this. How do you know it’s the Rainman?”
“Oh, they didn’t tell you? Rape kit came away with DNA.”
“You’ve never gotten DNA before, have you? That’s great news.”
Betsy shook her head gingerly, grimacing at the pain. “We have gotten DNA in the other rapes. He uses a condom, but he’s sloppy-when he takes it off, he always leaves a drop or two behind. We’ve been keeping that tidbit quiet because we can’t get the damn Tennessee Bureau of Investigation to run any of the newer samples through CODIS in a timely manner. At least not anytime soon.”
The TBI’s CODIS database was backlogged for a year or more at a time. The Combined DNA Index database was so popular that their lab was overwhelmed with the number of samples to get into the system. Maybe this would bump the cases up the ladder.
Betsy continued. “They ran it a couple of years ago, after the 2002 rapes. There wasn’t a match, but the database was in its infancy around here then. The samples from 2004 are up there, they just haven’t been processed. If he’s in the system, we’ll find him. It’s just a matter of doing it before we all die of old age.”
Taylor shook her head. “We’ve got to get our own lab. Maybe because it’s you, they’ll give it a push.”
“Jesus, God no, we can’t let them know. Taylor, please, you have to find another way.”
“I know. I’m going to do everything that I can to keep you insulated from this.” She rolled her neck to stretch the kinks out. She was tired all of a sudden. That was never a good sign. As much as her mind knew she was a hundred percent, her body liked to think otherwise.
Betsy continued her analysis. “The Rainman takes the condom with him, right? But we do have the spermicide. The lab has the chemical signature and we have a brand. Matched it to each rape.” Betsy gave her a little smile that said, “See, we haven’t fallen down on the job completely in Sex Crimes.”
Taylor noticed Betsy’s eyes starting to droop, and decided to ask what was on her mind. “You think he knows who you are?”
“Oh, yeah. We gave a press conference a couple of weeks ago, after the last rape. So he knows I’m on the case. What he doesn’t know is we’re getting close.”
“Or maybe he does, and he wanted you to back off. Why do you think you’re getting close?”
The spark came back to her eyes. Betsy leaned back into the pillows, looking smug. “The last victim thinks she recognizes him.”
Fourteen
W hen Baldwin and Grimes arrived in the community-hospital parking lot, Baldwin could see a passel of men standing in the northeast corner. Waves of heat shimmered off the black asphalt. Grimes pulled up a few slots away and got out, went immediately to a large dark-skinned man with commanding shoulders and a shaved head. He held himself ramrod straight, and Baldwin pegged him as military from twenty feet away. He followed in Grimes’s path and stuck out his hand for the requisite introductions and posturing. To his surprise, the sheriff flashed him a big smile. He was younger than he initially looked, and Baldwin breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes the locals just weren’t thrilled to have the FBI involved in their cases, and sometimes they were.
“Sheriff Terrence Pascoe,” the man rumbled. “You must be John Baldwin. I read your white paper on anger- excitation killers in the Law Enforcement Bulletin last year. Great stuff. It’s good to have you. Sorry about the heat.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. Not much better in Nashville this time of year. Agent Grimes told me you wanted to tow the car. I appreciate you holding off for me.”
“Not a problem. The locks are popped.” He handed a manila folder to Baldwin. “Here’re the crime scene photos. Nothing much different, ’cept we pulled the keys out from under the car to process. We’ve been holding her cell phone in case any calls come into it.” He held up a bag with the phone. “Already dusted it, so I’ve just kept it on my person until I turn it in to Evidence. We didn’t get anything off it but her prints. Same for the car. No prints other than her and the fiance, which isn’t surprising. We’ve talked to him and let him go back home. He’s praying she makes a call to him. Straight shooter, I highly doubt he was involved in this.”
Noble may have been a small, poor town, but they had a first-class sheriff. Baldwin gave him a nod of gratitude, took the file and glanced at the high-resolution crime scene photos inside. The sheriff was right; other than the keys being under the car, the tableau was identical.
Baldwin pulled gloves out of his pocket and eased himself into the small BMW. He was thankful they’d left the door open, it must have been well past 120 degrees in the car. He felt around the seats, noting the lack of typical accumulation usually present when a woman spends a lot of time in her car. It was very clean, perfectly organized and told a clear story about Marni Fischer.
She kept herself in shape. There was a gym bag on the back seat. Baldwin rifled through it-Lycra shorts, wicking T-shirt, socks and high-end running shoes. A brush, hair dryer, small soap-and-shampoo containers completed the bag. There were medical textbooks stacked in the seat next to the gym bag. The console held lipstick, hair bands and classic Ray-Ban aviator sunglasses. Typical stuff.
Baldwin worked his way through the car, not finding anything out of place. When he opened the glove box, a piece of paper fluttered to the floor. He picked it up carefully by the edges and gave the sheriff a questioning look. “You guys see this?”
“Hasn’t been printed, if that’s what you’re asking. I read it, it’s just a poem. Figured her boyfriend gave it to her.”
Baldwin stepped out of the car and looked carefully at the note. It was a poem. A love poem. Typed on a piece of white paper with nothing else on it. He wasn’t surprised the sheriff hadn’t thought twice about it; in normal circumstances, no one would. But Baldwin was a profiler, and his sirens went off as he read the lines.
Being so caught up, So mastered by the brute blood of the air, Did she put on his knowledge with his power Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
“Yeats,” he murmured. Grimes and the sheriff looked at him closely.
“You really think a poem could make any difference in this case?” Grimes was shifting from foot to foot, anxious, realizing they may have their first break and it wasn’t because of him.
“Grimes, did you find any poems at any of the other scenes?”
“Not where we found the bodies. I don’t know if anyone checked the victim’s effects. Shit!”
He pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. “Thomas, it’s Grimes.” Baldwin recognized whom Grimes had called. Thomas Petty was Grimes’s partner and had handled the start of the investigation. He had been on-site for two of the murders, present at the death scenes.
Grimes was pacing in circles. “You’re still in Alabama, working that missing-boy case, right? Do you have some sharp contacts that can do something for us? Good, here’s what we need. You need to get in touch with the police in Alabama, Louisiana and Mississippi. Have them go back through all the girls’ effects. If they need to call the families, go out and visit the houses, do it. Have them look for a piece of paper with a poem on it. That’s right, poetry. Make sure they look in the girls’ cars, too.” He cleared his throat, his voice sounded jumpy and anxious. Baldwin could read his face-had he missed the most important clue in their case? “Especially the glove boxes. Call me back as soon as you can.”
He hung up and shook his head. “You really think this is from the killer?”
Baldwin nodded. “This guy’s playing games. Surely he wouldn’t leave us hanging with nothing to go on. The hand exchange is one clue. Let’s see if this is another.” He took out his notebook and copied the verses, though he knew the poem by heart. It was one of the most intriguing he knew. He handed the paper off to the sheriff. “Could you get this printed for me, please?”
“Absolutely. I’m sorry we missed it.”
