Sara paused, and Faith was grateful for the moment.
“From an investigatory standpoint, we got lucky,” Sara said. “The hiking pants McAllister was wearing were a heavy, waterproof material. Normally, predators go for the orifices, so the murderer likely assumed that any damage he caused during the rape would be blamed on predator activity.”
Faith had to ask, “The coroner didn’t notice her clit was ripped off?”
“He didn’t see a legitimate reason to perform a pelvic exam. He might have noticed during the embalming. Cotton is packed into the orifices to prevent leakage.”
Faith could not suppress a shudder.
Sara continued, “My visual exam of McAllister yesterday morning confirmed most of what the coroner found, which is that the death was accidental. Without X-rays, the head wound passed for a skull fracture from impact against a rock. It was only when I checked for a spinal puncture that I made the connection to Grant County. Had I not known what I was looking for, I might have missed it. Had I missed it, I never would’ve brought McAllister back here for a full autopsy.”
The lesson in transparency was clearly meant for Amanda, who responded, “Thank you for the chronology, Dr. Linton.”
Sara continued, “The theory in Grant County was that the killer was at the nascent stage. He saw each new victim as a learning opportunity to hone his skills. Tommi’s attack was botched, for lack of a less appalling way to describe it. Beckey lived. Truong did not. Now, we fast forward eight years. Alexandra McAllister’s murder was convincingly made to look accidental. If you asked me to look at these four cases as a piece, I couldn’t rule out the hypothesis that there is a clear line of progression from Tommi to Alexandra McAllister.”
Faith tapped her pen on her notebook. She needed more information. “Are you saying that the mutilation is his signature?”
“Paralysis is his signature. We know that from the attacker’s own words.” Sara provided, “He told Tommi to pretend to be paralyzed. He threatened to do it with the knitting needle if she didn’t comply. With McAllister, I assume there was no negotiation. He punctured her spinal cord at C5. He enervated her arms. She would’ve been completely paralyzed, but still breathing, still awake. That was the state he was trying to affect with Tommi.”
“Jesus.” Faith wrote paralysis in her notebook, but only to give herself time to recover.
“Dr. Linton,” Amanda said. “Walk us through the other links.”
“The most tangible link that can be proven with X-rays is the head wound. Caterino’s skull fracture was crescent-shaped. It matched the hammer. The red impression on the side of Leslie Truong’s head matched the hammer that was found inside of her. When I autopsied Alexandra McAllister yesterday, her skull fracture was consistent with the head of a hammer.”
Faith wrote down the information as she asked, “What about Tommi?”
“She said that her attacker hit her with something very hard. She didn’t see what it was.”
Amanda prompted, “And the next link?”
“Eight years ago, Tommi told us that during her abduction, she was forced to drink a blue, sugary liquid consistent with Gatorade. Rebecca Caterino’s vomit and throat contents had a visible blue coloring. During Leslie Truong’s autopsy, I noted a blue liquid in her stomach. Yesterday afternoon, when I performed the full autopsy on Alexandra McAllister, I found a similar blue liquid in her stomach, plus staining in her throat and mouth. I’ve sent the sample off to toxicology.”
Faith asked, “Did the Grant County coroner—”
“Dan Brock.”
“Did he get back the toxicology on Truong?”
“Brock sent all the samples to the GBI. Even with a rush, back then it usually took a few months to get results. I never asked to see them because at that point, Daryl Nesbitt was the presumed perpetrator.”
Amanda started typing on her phone. “We should have copies of the labs.”
“Okay.” Faith needed clarification. “I get that there’s a progression in his attacks where he’s learning, and the hammer and the Gatorade make sense, but Caterino is an outlier. Hell yes, she was damaged, but she wasn’t mutilated like the other two victims.”
“If I may, ma’am?” Nick waited for Amanda to give him the nod. “One of the theories the Chief and his team had was, maybe he doesn’t abduct them. Maybe he follows them into the woods. He knocks them out and carries them to a more secluded spot, usually off the beaten path. He drugs them into oblivion. He rapes them. He leaves them there and then he comes back, doing more damage with each visit. Then the body gets found and he has to look for a new victim.”
Faith felt sick. “They’re alive the whole time? Just waiting for him to return and hurt them again?”
“And paralyzed,” Sara said. “They could live for three days without water, three weeks without food, but if he came back—who knows?”
“Ted Bundy returned to his victims,” Faith said. “If this killer is like Bundy, part of the excitement could be the fear of getting caught.”
“Nick,” Amanda said. “Tell them about the profile.”
Nick unsnapped his Liberace briefcase and pulled out a stapled stack of pages. “The Chief asked me to get the FBI to do a profile. Y’all know stranger homicides are a bitch. We figured it had to be somebody in town who knew the layout of the forest and where the students hung out. The Fee-Bees sent this back a year later.”
Faith didn’t set much store by profiles, not least of all because they tended to be generated by older white men with personal issues of their own. “Let me guess. He hated his mother.”
“They said his primary driver was Daddy issues. Dad coasted through life, our killer did not. He was socially isolated. An okay student who never applied himself. Ended up working with his hands. Mid-to-late thirties. Low self-esteem. Can’t find a woman, let alone keep her. Felt
