“What is it?” he asked.
Gaudet jerked his head in a “come here” motion. “Look at it from this end.”
Careful not to tread in the blood, Murphy stepped around the body and stood beside Gaudet.
“Read it,” Gaudet said.
Murphy stared hard at the cuts. The longer he stared the more they looked like two letters and a numeral. “ L-D -6?” he said.
Gaudet shook his head. “ L-O-G. As in Lamb of God.”
“How many people know what was in the letter?”
After a sideways glance at Murphy, Gaudet said, “Apparently, one more than I thought. Kirsten told you?”
Murphy shrugged.
“After that hit piece she did on you, I’m surprised you’re still speaking to her.”
“You spoke to her.”
Gaudet smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I appreciate you trying to help me out.”
Gaudet switched off his flashlight. “Anything for a brother.”
“What did you hold back from the letter?” Murphy asked.
“The name, for one. Also that the killer said he was going to mark his future victims for us. We’re all idiots, he said, all except you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kirsten didn’t tell you the guy mentioned you in his letter?”
Murphy shook his head. “What did it say?”
“She tell you about the finger?”
Murphy felt a flutter deep in his bowels. “The what?”
“Crazy motherfucker put a chopped-off finger in with the letter, said it was from the girl under the Jeff Davis overpass.”
“And he mentioned me in his letter?”
“He said you were the only cop smart enough to recognize his work-his words-so he promised to mark his future victims so we could identify them.” Gaudet turned on his flashlight and again angled the beam down at the letters carved into the woman’s skin. “I’m guessing this is his mark.”
“Is the finger legit?”
“It’s a real finger,” Gaudet said. “The crime lab is trying to match the print right now with a criminal record so we can see if the photo and description match the victim under the overpass.”
Murphy nodded toward the dead woman at their feet. “Who found her?”
“Boyfriend.”
“Where’s the husband?”
“Divorced.”
“Boyfriend got a key?”
Gaudet shook his head. “He knocked. No one answered. The door was unlocked, so he let himself in. Found the woman here, kids upstairs.”
Murphy looked at the staircase on the opposite side of the den. He dreaded climbing those stairs. “How old are they?”
“Nine and six. A boy and a girl.”
“Son of a bitch.”
Murphy’s head felt like it was spinning, like he was drunk. When he had walked in the front door, he noticed an unusual somberness among the cops already at the scene. He understood the reason. There was nothing worse than working the murder of a child.
“How did he kill them?”
“He suffocated one and strangled the other,” Gaudet said. He took a deep breath. “Looks like the boy was raped.”
They stood in silence, staring down at the dead woman.
Finally, Murphy said, “I know it’s probably a waste of time, but we’ve got to look at the ex-husband.”
“He already called the office. He’s at a doctor’s conference, in London.”
Murphy walked back into the den. Gaudet followed.
“The letter included a coded message,” Gaudet said.
“What kind of code?”
“A bunch of letters and numbers. Looks like CIA shit to me.”
The case was getting bizarre, Murphy thought. A dead mother, two murdered children, a victim’s finger, his own name in a letter, a fucking code. And more victims to come. He was sure of that.
Murphy turned to his partner. “Why did the captain bring me here?”
“You’re back on the case,” Gaudet said. “Detailed from CE amp;P to Homicide.”
“Detailed, not reassigned?”
“That’s the word the man used.”
“What about PIB?”
Gaudet shrugged.
“Don’t bullshit me, Juan.”
Dropping his voice to a whisper, Gaudet said, “Word is, PIB still has a green light. But if you can put this case down you’ll be a hero. They won’t be able to touch you after that.”
“You ever hear of Melvin Purvis?”
Gaudet shook his head. “Was he on the job?”
“Never mind,” Murphy said. “To hell with PIB and the rank. They may be digging my grave, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got to pick up a shovel and help. They wanted me off the case, I’m off.”
“Hey, partner, this is me asking. I need your help.”
“You got the whole Homicide Division.”
“This is make or break, brother,” Gaudet said. “Right now, I’m the primary. If I don’t catch this guy, I’ll be out on my ass, back in a district.” He patted his stomach. “And I don’t think my uniforms fit anymore.”
Murphy eyed his friend’s belly and laughed. Then he stared across the den into the kitchen. “All right,” he said. “But I’m not doing it for the rank.” He nodded toward the dead woman. “I’m doing it for her and those two kids, and for all the other victims.”
Gaudet smiled. “So how do we catch this sick fuck?”
“Any way we can.”
“Sparks,” city editor Gene Michaels shouted across the frenzied newsroom. Deadline was only a couple hours away. Everyone was pounding their keyboards.
Kirsten glanced up from her computer screen. She was busy working on tomorrow’s front-page story about the serial killer’s letter. She kept typing.
“Sparks, I need you,” Michaels shouted again.
Kirsten pushed herself up from her chair. She looked across the sea of heads at the city editor’s desk. Michaels was on his feet.
“What?” Kirsten said, hoping he picked up on the annoyance in her voice.
“Triple slaying on Freret Street.”
The newsroom din faded.
Kirsten grabbed her phone and waved it at him. Two seconds later, it rang.
Michaels didn’t bother with a greeting. “Since the command desk put out the call a couple of hours ago, there hasn’t been any chatter about it. I think Homicide must be using a secure frequency, something they almost never do.”
“He couldn’t have killed three women at one time?”
“It’s not three women,” Michaels said. “It’s a mother and her two children.”
“How do you know that?”
“A source at EMS just told me.”
