The doors opened and Michael Ormewood walked in. There were dark circles under his eyes and he still had a piece of tissue stuck to his chin where he had apparently cut himself shaving.
“Sorry I’m late,” Michael apologized.
Will looked at his watch; the movement was reflexive, but when he looked back up, he could see Michael’s irritation.
“That’s fine,” Will said, realizing too late that he had said the wrong thing. He tried, “Dr. Hanson was just finishing up. You didn’t miss anything.”
Michael kept silent, and Pete broke the tension, saying, “I’m so sorry for your loss, Detective.”
After a few seconds, Michael nodded his head. He wiped his mouth, rolling the tissue off his chin. He looked surprised at the bloody paper between his fingers and threw it in the trashcan. “It’s been a little hard at home.”
“I can imagine.” Pete patted him on the shoulder. “My condolences.”
“Yes,” Will agreed, not knowing what else to say.
“She was just a neighbor, but still…” The smile on Michael’s face seemed forced, as if he was having trouble keeping his emotions in. “It eats you up when something bad happens to an innocent kid like that.” Will saw his gaze settle onto the body, noticed the flash of despair in the other man’s eyes. Michael reached out as if to touch the blonde hair, then pulled his hand back. Will remembered how Michael had acted this same way the day before when they had first seen the body. It was as if Cynthia was the man’s own child instead of a neighbor’s.
“Poor baby,” Michael whispered.
“Yes,” Pete concurred.
“I’m sorry, guys,” Michael apologized. He cleared his throat a few times, seemed to try to get himself together. “What have you got, Pete?”
“I was just about to do my summary report with Agent Trent.” Pete started to roll back the sheet covering the lower half of the body.
Michael flinched visibly. “Just give me the highlights, okay?”
Pete rolled the sheet back up, stopping just under the girl’s neck, telling them, “I believe she tripped and hit her head. The force from the fall shattered her skull above the left temporal lobe. Her neck twisted on impact, snapping the spinal cord at C-2. Death was instantaneous. An unfortunate accident, but for the missing tongue.”
Michael asked, “Did they locate it yet?”
“No,” Will answered, then asked Pete, “Could you go over the differences between the two murders?”
“Of course,” Pete replied. “Unlike your prostitute, this girl’s tongue was not bitten off, but cut. Most likely a serrated knife was used. A lesser man might not notice, but I’m certain it’s different.”
Michael asked, “How can you tell?”
“The cut is not clean, like your biter.” The doctor snapped his teeth together to illustrate, the sound echoing in the tiled room. “What’s more, I would expect a crescent pattern, because the teeth are not in a straight line in the mouth, but curved. If you look…” He had been about to open the girl’s mouth, but seemed to change his mind. “There are several test marks where whoever removed her tongue obviously had difficulty getting a grip on it. The tongue slid and the blade caught. Your guy was determined, though. He accomplished the task on the third or fourth try.”
“It was slick?” Will asked. “From blood? Saliva?”
“There would have been little blood because she was already dead by the time the mutilation occurred. I would assume his grip was compromised because the tongue is so small. Further, a grown man would have difficulty reaching his hand into her mouth. It’s very narrow.”
Michael was nodding, but he didn’t seem to be listening to Pete. His eyes were still locked on the girl and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He looked away for just a second, using the back of his hand to wipe the tear, pretending to be rubbing his nose.
“And of course the missing tongue is interesting,” Pete opined. “In the other cases, the tongue was always left with the victim. Perhaps your perpetrator has graduated to taking souvenirs?”
“That’s common with serial killers,” Will told them, trying to draw Michael out. Maybe the man was back too soon. Angie had said that he loved children. Perhaps, like Will, this was harder on him because of the girl’s age. And, Barrett was his neighbor, so Michael had probably watched her grow up. That kind of thing would be hard on anyone, even without a trip to the morgue to see her cut open.
Michael cleared his throat twice, finally asking, “Was she raped?”
Pete equivocated, and Will waited to see how he would answer, and how that answer would affect Michael. “There are definitely signs of forcible entry, but it’s difficult to say whether the act was consensual or not.” Pete shrugged. “Of course, if the rape was post mortem, then there wouldn’t be signs of vaginal trauma because the force reflex would be gone.”
There was a tight smile on Michael’s face, the kind you gave when you were anything but pleased.
Will reminded, “You said that she’s sexually experienced. Maybe we should find out if there’s a boyfriend in her life.”
“I asked Gina about that last night,” Michael offered, explaining, “Gina’s my wife.” Will nodded and he continued, “Cynthia wasn’t dating anybody. She was a really good kid. Phil never had a moment’s trouble with her.”
Will knew the father was a traveling salesman who had been on the other side of the country when his daughter was murdered. “When will he be back?”
“This afternoon at the latest,” Michael answered. “I’d like to knock off early so I can go check on him.” He turned to Will. “I’ll let you know if he has anything useful.”
Will nodded, understanding the message: Michael would talk to the father alone. Part of Will was glad he was being spared the task.
Michael asked Pete, “Did you get any DNA?”
“Some.”
“I’ll run it upstairs for you.”
“Thank you,” Pete said, walking over to the counter by the door. He handed Michael a sealed paper bag containing Cynthia Barrett’s rape kit.
Will asked Michael, “Do you think there’s a connection between these cases and the ones I showed you yesterday?”
The other man’s gaze was back on Cynthia’s face. “No question about it,” he answered. “He’s obviously escalating.”
Will asked, “Is there anyone you’ve come across since the Monroe murder who might look good for this?”
The detective shook his head. “That’s all I thought about last night. There’s nobody I can think of who would do this.” He paused a second before suggesting, “I figure it’s somebody who was watching the Monroe crime scene when I showed up. I went straight home after. They probably followed me. Jesus!” He put his hand to his forehead. “They could have gotten Tim. My wife…” He dropped his hand. “I’ve moved my family out of the house. They’re not safe with this maniac out there.”
“That’s probably best,” Pete said. He put his hand on Michael’s arm. “I’m so sorry, Detective. I’m so sorry that this has happened to you.”
Michael nodded, and Will saw that he had tears in his eyes again. “She was a good kid,” Michael managed. “Nobody deserves this kind of thing, but Cynthia…” He shook his head. “We’ve got to catch this guy. I won’t feel safe until the warden’s putting the needle in this fucker’s arm.” He looked right at Will, repeating himself. “I won’t feel safe.”
Will leaned against Michael Ormewood’s car, waiting for the detective to join him. He flipped open his cell phone and stared at the screen, wanting to call Angie. There was something she was not telling him. He had known her long enough to figure out when she was hiding something. Maybe he could ring her up and ask if she’d remembered anything else about Michael. Angie had worked with the detective. She knew about his extracurricular activities. She had to know more than she was letting on.
“Shit,” Will whispered, snapping the phone closed. What an idiot. She had probably slept with the man. He was just her type: a married, unavailable asshole who was bound to use her, then walk away.
Will inhaled and let out a long sigh of breath, feeling his own stupidity overwhelm him. He had been worried
