The Face of Death

'He's so damn bold, Alan. During the day, when everyone would be home. Why?'

'You think it means something.'

'I know it. You don't take a risk like that without a reason. He likes messages and he was sending one by coming for them when he did.'

'What?'

I sigh. 'I don't know yet.'

'You'll figure it out. What's the game plan?'

'Barry asked for our help, so we're on it--but go ahead and go home. We'll pick this up again tomorrow.'

'You sure?'

'Yes. I'm going to do the same myself. I have too much information and not enough answers. I need space to think and forensics needs time to work.'

'Call me tomorrow.'

I exit the apartment. Barry is outside, leaning up against the railing. The sky is clear tonight; I can see more stars than usual. The beauty escapes me.

What's that smell? Oh, yeah--it's me. I smell of death.

'Made any sense of this yet?' Barry asks.

'No answers, just more questions.'

'Such as?'

'Connections. How do the Kingsleys tie in with the two corpses in there? What is it about the children, why doesn't he disfigure them?

Why does he only close the eyes of the females? Why did he leave Sarah alive, and what's her connection to this scene? Is there one?' I throw up my hands, frustrated.

'Yeah. So how do you want to proceed?'

'Callie and Gene and company will process things here. You have Simmons at the Kingsleys'. We have Sarah to interview tomorrow, and we have the diary.' I stop, turn to him. 'I'm going home.'

He arches his eyebrows, surprised. 'Really?'

'Yes, really. My head's spinning, I kept a teenage girl from blowing her brains out and I've seen five too many dead people. My head's packed with information about our perpetrator, most of it contradictory. I need a shower and some coffee and then I'll take another look at it.'

He holds his hands up in a 'don't shoot' gesture. 'I come in peace.'

I chuckle against my will. Barry is almost as good at that as Callie is. Almost. 'Sorry. Can you do me one last favor tonight?'

'Sure.'

'Find out who they are. The man and the girl. Maybe it will help me figure some things out.'

'No problem. I'll call you on your cell. I'll also get some uniforms over here to assist with whatever.'

'Thanks.'

Callie comes out of the apartment.

'Gene and team are on their way, sleepy-eyed and grumpy.'

I fill her in on the conversation between Barry and me.

'Vacation-time is over, I suppose?'

'Long gone.'

13

HOW MUCH LIFE CAN YOU LIVE IN A SINGLE DAY?

I'm at home now, alone. Bonnie is spending the night with Elaina and Alan. It would have been cruel to wake her just so she could keep me company. I'm freshly showered and I'm sitting on my couch, facing a TV that's not on, my feet on the coffee table, staring at nothing.

I'm having trouble putting the day away.

It's a trick I had to force myself to learn early: how to leave a scene behind when I came home. How do you separate these two worlds, the dead and the living? How do you keep them from bleeding over into each other? These are questions every cop or agent has to answer for themselves. I wasn't always successful, but I managed. It usually began with forcing myself to smile. If I could smile, I could keep smiling. If I could keep smiling, I could laugh. If I could laugh, I could leave the dead where they lay.

My cell phone rings. Barry.

'Hey,' I answer.

'I have some information for you on the vics in the apartment. I don't know how it ties in with anything else, but it's interesting.'

I grab a notepad and pen from the coffee table.

'Tell me.'

'Male's name is Jose Vargas. He's fifty-eight years old and hails from sunny Argentina. He's not a solid citizen. He's done time for burglary, assault, attempted rape, and statutory rape.'

'Nice guy.'

'Yeah. He's been suspected but not convicted of pimping, pandering, child molestation, and animal abuse.'

'Animal abuse?'

'Of a sexual nature, apparently.'

'Oh. Yuck.'

'There was suspicion in the late seventies that he might be involved in human trafficking, but nothing ever came of it. That's what I know about Mr. Vargas so far. He won't be missed.'

'The girl?'

'Nothing on her yet. No ID in the apartment. I did see a tattoo on her left arm that had some Cyrillic lettering on it, for what that's worth.'

'Russian?'

'Seems so. Though it doesn't mean she is Russian. One other thing. She's got scarring on the bottom of her feet. Same type we saw at the Kingsleys'. Newer, though.'

A brief surge of adrenaline shoots through me.

'This is important, Barry. The scars are key.'

'Yep. I agree. That's all I've got, for now, though. Callie and Sykes are going to town here. I'm heading back over to the Kingsleys'. I'll call you in the morning.'

'Bye.'

I lean my head back and gaze at the ceiling. It's covered with that acoustic 'popcorn' that was so normal at one time and is so despised today. Matt and I had planned to get rid of it but had never gotten around to it.

Scars, I think. Scars and children. These things are important. How?

Without an eyewitness or a confession or a video of the perpetrator committing the crime, we are left with one avenue: Collect everything, collect it as fast as humanly possible, and then examine it, align it, and attempt to understand it. Investigative arcs shouldn't go wider and wider, they should become smaller and smaller. I slide down so that I am sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table rather than on the couch. I rip pages from the notepad and lay them out horizontally.

It's time to organize my thoughts on this. I need to write everything down, put it there in front of me so I can actually see the connections in this case.

Across the top of one page I write: PERPETRATOR

I chew on the pen, thinking. I begin to write:

METHODOLOGY: HE CUTS THE THROATS OF HIS VICTIMS. THIS IS AN

INTIMATE ACT. DRAINS THEM OF BLOOD, AND BLOOD IS IMPORTANT

TO HIM, REPRESENTATIVE. HE DISEMBOWELS THE BODIES OF THE

ADULTS POSTMORTEM. POSSIBLY DRUGS THEM FIRST TO CONTROL

THEM.

BEHAVIORS: DOESN'T MUTILATE THE CHILDREN, ONLY THE

ADULTS. WHY?