Evan said, “Like touching a lit match to gasoline.”
“With a bunch of innocents standing in their way, if you’re right.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Based on the first page of the manifesto sent by the killers—the drawings of five men—we have at least four surviving Superior Gentlemen. But of the five men in the photo, you’ve only identified three. Our victim, Noah Asher. His brother, Todd Asher. Who is missing. And the guy with the bleached hair, Riley Lynch. Also missing. The man in the T-shirt and jeans we know only as Craze.” She tapped her chin with two fingers and frowned. “The man standing next to Craze remains unidentified. And, of course, we don’t know who took the picture.”
Bandoni cleared his throat. “That’s correct.”
Lobowitz glared at Gabel, who didn’t appear to take it personally. “What kind of backlog do we have on the DNA from the crime scenes?”
“DNA testing is running months behind. Even with priority status, we’re looking at a week, minimum.”
“How can I help?”
“Get me access to one of those rapid DNA machines. And more manpower.”
“Dream on,” Bandoni muttered.
But Lobowitz jotted a note in her spiral pad. “Let me see what I can do. The FBI has been testing the interface process between the automated machines and the DNA index system, and they need material. Our investigation would be a good test case for them.”
“Thanks.”
She dipped her chin at Cohen. “Michael, I spoke with your lieutenant this morning. Based on the sexual nature of the crimes, he’s given his approval for us to borrow you for a couple of days. You good with that?”
“Whatever you need.”
She swiveled toward Evan. “Can you continue to help us out?”
“Of course.” He was writing rapidly in his notebook. He didn’t look up. “We have five writing exemplars. The two victims, the message scratched in the elevator, and the one left in Sydney’s car. And now the manifesto. If you can get exemplars from our suspects, that would be helpful. I’ll start building a profile of our demented scribes.”
“Perfect. I’ll find a place for you to park.” She scooped her hair off her neck. Her face was flushed. “What about possible targets? Who do you think these killers might go after?”
Evan clipped his pen on his notebook and looked up. “At this point, it’s impossible to guess, both regarding the targets and the scale.”
“Men calling themselves unwilling celibates have killed before,” Cohen said. “They’ve shot sorority sisters in Berkeley and yoga students in Florida. A guy in Toronto mowed down a crowd of people in a van.”
Bandoni cleared his throat. “Parnell’s spotted a cargo van three times since this investigation started. No plates that we’ve caught, but it’s got a bull bar mounted on the front. Which is a pretty efficient way to take out pedestrians.”
“You think that’s what the killers are planning? Running down people in a van?”
“In the world of Forced Celibates,” Cohen said, “the Toronto killer is considered the leader of the coming revolution.”
This time the lieutenant closed her eyes only briefly. “I’m requesting assistance from the Feds. If we’re really lucky, the FBI is already aware of these guys and knows something we don’t.”
“Like those assholes will share,” Bandoni grumbled.
“Guess you’ll just have to rely on your inexhaustible charm to convince them, won’t you, Len?” Lobowitz said.
He stuffed the rest of his doughnut in his mouth and simmered.
“World’s full of soft targets,” she said. “And now we know these guys are watching us. Stay alert.” She smacked the table with her notebook and stood. “Okay, people, let’s get on it.”
Outside the conference room, Major Crimes was frenetic with conversation, television commentary, ringing phones, and a jittery energy that felt like a bone saw against my raw nerves.
The murder business was humming.
“I can’t hear myself think in here,” Bandoni said. “Powwow in the break room.”
While Lobowitz and Evan went to find a place for him to work, Cohen, Clyde, and I tailed Bandoni into the room set aside for lunch and coffee breaks. Cohen and I poured coffee while Bandoni snagged a Mountain Dew from the refrigerator. He leaned against the appliance, his bulk looming over the old Whirlpool.
“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. He lifted his soda in Cohen’s direction. “I want you to check out the church. See if you can find anything that links Redeemed Life to anyone in Noah’s circle—his students and Riley Lynch. See if there’s anyone in the church who belongs to one of these pickup lairs. You know the drill.”
“I do,” Cohen said mildly. “I’ll see who might have gotten access to a key, as well. And while we’re looking for all possible connections, I’ll cross-check the church membership with the names of employees from Water Resources.”
“Good thought.” Bandoni tipped the Mountain Dew toward me. “What you and Fido are going to do is find Ami. Alive. Dead. Getting her nails done. On a rocket to the moon. Whatever. Find her.”
I nodded. “I’ll see if my contact in the FBI was able to get me a last name off the TPS registry. Outside of that, the only possible link I’ve got is Top-A. The warrant came through, so I’ll take a look at their records, see if Ami worked there and if they’ve got an address on file.” I took a sip of the coffee and made a face. “Plus, I swear the women I talked to recognized her when I showed them Noah’s drawing. I’ll lean on them.”
“Good. You hear anything from North Platte’s detective’s bureau about the warrant for ColdShip?”
I flushed and shook my head.
“I’ll follow up on it.” He took a long swallow, set the can on the counter. “I’ll have patrol bring in Markey and Rivero. Make sure their alibis check out. And see if they have other names to add to the pot. I’ll talk to the comics-store owner, too. Dana
