'Why do you say that?' I ask.
'Rosemary told me everyone she ever knew was long dead and gone. Killed off by age, illness, or drugs.'
*
*
*
ALAN AND I ARE DRIVING back to the Bureau. I'm feeling restless and discombobulated.
'This is fucked up, Alan,' I say.
'How's that?'
'We're nowhere. Nowhere. We have three victims--and we only have those because he gave them to us--no reliable description, no fingerprints, no nada. I have an idea of what's driving him, but it's too incomplete. Nothing's vivid, nothing's standing out.'
He gives me a look.
'What?' I ask.
'This is how it goes sometimes. We work the case until we find something that breaks it. You know that. Why are you getting so worked up about it just two days in?'
'Because it's personal.'
'How?'
'We think this guy has been creeping around for years killing people, right? We think that the numbers on those crosses designate the number of victims. If that's true, he's going to turn out to be one of the most prolific killers ever. And he's been doing it right under our noses. The Lisas and Rosemarys of the world have been dropping like flies and he's been laughing about it the whole time.'
He nods. 'The victims got to you.'
It's an incisive observation, a word-knife.
'I always care about the victims.'
'Sure, of course. But sometimes you care more than others. This is one of those times, isn't it?'
I stop resisting.
'Yes.'
'Why?'
'For the same reason that Atkins was upset about Rosemary. Most people let life carry them along. They accept what they get. Lisa Reid and Rosemary Sonnenfeld swam against the current. Even though they knew it might be hard, might even be futile, they swam anyway. Then, after they'd made it to shore, this guy came up behind them, slit their throats, and dumped their bodies back in the river.'
He's silent for a little while, just driving. He clears his throat.
'Yeah. They got to me too. Made me think of you.'
I look at him in surprise.
'Really?'
He smiles, gives me a sideways glance.
'When it comes to swimming against the current, Smoky, you're the hands-down gold medal winner.'
19
'NO USABLE PRINTS,' CALLIE BEGINS. 'ALL THE BLOOD ON the cushions belonged to Lisa Reid. We found a black hair on trace that did not belong to Lisa, but there was no root. We're not going to be able to get DNA from it.'
'Great,' I say. 'What about the cross?'
'It's not pure silver,' James says. 'That is, it's sterling silver. About ninety-three percent silver mixed with copper. Very common. He picked a good metal to work with if he wanted to make the crosses himself. Sterling silver melts at approximately sixteen hundred forty degrees Fahrenheit, it's harder than gold, and very malleable.'
'What you're saying is that he could have grabbed up a bunch of spoons and melted them down to make his crosses?' Alan asks.
'Easily.'
'What about the tools needed to do that? Anything unusual that we could track?'
' 'Fraid not,' Callie says. 'If you're not melting large amounts, the right kind of gas torch will do the trick.'
'Lisa's apartment? We know he touched her diary, and I bet he spent a while roaming through the rooms.'
Callie shakes her head. 'Again, no prints. I even brushed the keys on her keyboard. He's a careful boy.'
'As expected,' I admit.
'Got a call from the local detective,' Alan says. 'Passengers on the plane describe our perp as a talkative white guy with a beard. He had roughly the same appearance as Ambrose. Unhelpful.'
I walk to the dry-erase board in frustration. I begin to rattle off what we know, little as it is, searching for something cohesive or helpful.
'It's not about sex, it's about him seeing them as sinners--
repentant or not.'
'Repentant,' James says.
I turn to look at him. 'Explain.'
'The story the cop told you about herself tells us something about Rosemary. They were friends because these were people who had devoted themselves to walking the straight and narrow. They kept themselves under tight control. They took care to reduce any catalysts in their environments that might drive them back into addiction-seeking behavior. The point being, everything about these people says repentance.'
'What about Lisa?' Alan asks.
'Lisa's own diary shows her repentance,' James points out. I nod. 'Good, James. Let's go with repentant. Back to methodology: the coup de grace is a poke in the side just like Christ got on the mount. He leaves crosses in the wounds, and inscribes them with numbers, which may or may not be a counting of his victims up to now. If it is a count, he's very prolific and thus very accomplished. VICAP doesn't come up with earlier similar crimes, which means he's only just decided to step into the limelight.'
'Another contradiction,' James murmurs.
'How do you mean?' I ask.
'The cross. It's his symbol, its placement is ritualistic. When ritual is involved, it's everything. If he has killed over a hundred people, how did he resist placement of the cross prior to this point? We would have heard about corpses turning up with crosses in their sides. We haven't.'
It's a good point. Murder is always an act filled with significance for the organized serial killer. How it is done is specific, important, sacred. She must be blonde, she must never be more than a C cup, her toenails must be painted red when she dies--this is a signature and once developed, it is never deviated from. Our killer stabs them in the side and places silver crosses in the wounds. If he really has been killing for years, this should not be a new behavior.
'Only a few possibilities in that case,' Alan notes. 'He's changed his pattern, the numbers are a bluff, or he disposed of the bodies of his past victims so they'd remain undiscovered.'
'I think it's the last,' James intones.
'Wonderful thought,' Callie says.
I stare at my own writing on the board, willing something else to jump out at me. Anything. Nothing does.
'Well, that's all well and valid, but we're dead-ended,' I admit.
'That's it then?' Alan asks.
'For now. I'll go brief AD Jones. Use the time to get your paperwork up-to-date and keep your fingers crossed that we'll get a break that doesn't involve another dead body.'
'SO BACK OFF IT FOR now,' AD Jones tells me. 'Sometimes that's what you have to do,
