Forty-five minutes later, Jackson gave them the thumbs up and they moved closer to the victim.
The body was fastened to the pole with the same type of fishing line as the prior victims. He was dressed in a loose-fitting suit. And a number was scrawled across the vestiges of a scar on his forehead.
“Another goddamn number,” Burden said.
Vail tilted her head. “Thirty-five. So, we’ve got thirty-seven, forty- nine, and now thirty-five. A pattern?”
“None I’m seeing,” Burden said. “And it’s pissing me off.”
“What’s the deal with poles,” Friedberg asked. “They’ve all been secured to poles of some kind.”
“Phallic,” Jackson said as he snapped his toolkit closed.
“You could be right,” Vail said. “But it might simply be a means to an end: the act of leaving his victims erect, standing and facing the people who find him, may be what’s important to him. The pole is the easiest way for him to do that.”
“So this is an attempt to shock?” Burden asked. “Get a rise out of the people who discover the body?”
“We can’t rule it out. Let’s see if we can find some surveillance cameras in the area.”
Burden called to the first-on-scene officer, who was standing near his vehicle, and asked him to look for businesses or homes that had closed circuit systems.
A car came down Bay far too fast. It stopped in the middle of the street and the passenger window rolled down.
“Hey!” It was Clay Allman, leaning across from the driver’s seat. “You didn’t call me?”
“We’re a little busy,” Vail said. And our first call isn’t to the press, dickhead.
Allman parked a few cars down and jogged back toward them. He stood there a moment, outside the crime scene tape, sizing up the victim. “Okay, that’s a little weird.”
“A little,” Vail said.
Allman made a face, then turned to Burden. “You sure this isn’t personal?”
“Nah, she’s like this with everyone.”
Vail frowned. “Sorry. Murders tend to put me in a bad mood. I’m funny that way.”
“I accept your apology,” Allman said.
“She was being sarcastic,” Burden said.
“Whatever.” Allman pointed at the body. “Who’s the vic?”
“Haven’t gotten to that yet.” Friedberg reached into the man’s suit and felt around. He found the wallet in his trousers, and then flipped it open. “Harlan Rucker.” He pulled out his driver’s license. “Says here he’s seventy-eight.”
“Home address?”
“Hmm. Interesting.” Friedberg turned to Vail and Burden. With Allman only a few feet away, he was not going to read it aloud.
Vail’s phone started vibrating. She reached down and checked the Caller ID: Roxxann Dixon. “Hey, how’s it going?” Vail asked as she huddled with Friedberg and Burden around the license.
“I figured I’d touch base with you about doing dinner,” Dixon said. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“You’re calling because you’ve got an elderly female who’s been brutally raped and tortured, then kicked in the head. And there’s a brass key nearby.”
There was silence.
“Roxx?”
“What are you, a witch?”
“Nothing so exciting. You’ve got one of our vics. Text me your address. We’ll meet you.”
“Where?” Allman asked. “Another vic?”
Vail looked at him, then stepped in closer to Burden and Friedberg. “Got a call from a friend. She’s just caught a case in American Canyon, just over the Napa County line. One of our female vics.” Vail’s BlackBerry vibrated. “And I’ve got the address.” She consulted the screen. “Matches the one on Rucker’s CDL.”
“Hey,” Allman called out behind them. “I keyed you guys in on the ’82 case, gave you my files. How about cutting me in on the scoop?”
Vail looked at Burden. “You’re not considering it.”
“He’s just trying to do his job. He’s always been fair with us. What’s the harm?”
Vail shrugged in resignation. “It’s your case.”
Burden turned around to face Allman. “Fine. We’ll text you the address in half an hour, so we have some lead time. I want to check things out before you get there.”
They spent another ten minutes with Harlan Rucker, then released the scene to the officer and trudged back to their car. This case had just taken a turn-which was not good.
They hadn’t even figured out what was going on when it was moving in a straight line.
