“That our Trinket Killer has already started another cycle of killing,” Jag said. “We just don’t have a body yet.”
Chapter 8
The only time Jag went to the mainland these days was for mandatory work meetings or when his family made him. He stood on the bow of the ferry and stared at the Seattle skyline. He used to love living in the city. All the people and the fast pace of city life.
He didn’t miss it one single bit.
The closer the ferry dock came into sight, the faster his heart beat.
If his theory was correct, the Trinket Killer hadn’t started with Renee.
But who?
And where?
And how they hell did they miss it?
He made his way down from the observation deck to where he’d parked his Harley. Flipping up the kickstand, he revved the engine, following the line of cars off the ferry and onto the main road. He headed toward downtown and his old precinct. He hadn’t set foot in that building in almost a year. When he’d walked out, he didn’t think he had a career left. Forced into a two-month leave, he had a lot of time to think about his life and what he really wanted to do, and being a cop was all he’d ever known.
Thank God for Levi.
Pulling into the parking lot of the 87th Precinct of the Seattle Police Department, he reminded himself that when he took the job, he’d made a promise to Stephanie while visiting her grave that he’d follow every lead.
Only, he hadn’t had a lead in months.
And now he had more than he knew what to do with, and none of them made any sense.
He pushed open the door, and his ears were assaulted with confrontational communication at its best. Nothing like his nice little quiet station sitting next to the library in city hall. He nodded to the desk sergeant who buzzed him past the front desk.
“Montgomery’s waiting for you in the conference room,” the sergeant said. “Do you remember where it is? Or should I get you an escort?”
“I’m sure I can find it.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. He noticed a lot of familiar faces and a few new ones as well. A lot could change in a year.
And a lot stayed the same.
He tapped his knuckles on the glass door.
Matt waved him in. “How’s it going?”
“I’ve been worse.”
“You’ve looked better,” Matt said, giving him his best bro cop hug. “Thanks for coming to me.”
“I just appreciate you hearing me out,” Jag said. “I was hoping Jack Marlo would be here by now.”
“He just went to the head,” Matt said. “There’s fresh coffee if you want it.”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Jag poured himself some swill and made himself comfortable at the far end of the table. He flipped through some active homicide files that Matt had pulled for him, but nothing was remotely like the Trinket Killer.
The sound of boots scuffing down the hallway caught his attention. Jack Marlo entered the conference room. “Hey, Jag. Good to see you.”
“You as well.” Jag rose and shook Marlo’s hand. “Were you able to find anything?”
“Not a single cold case in Seattle that fits the Trinket Killer’s patterns,” Marlo said. “I widened the search and went to other offices in the state with similar parameters and got a few hits. I don’t think they match. At least not with what we know about our killer.”
Matt leaned against the table. “Yeah, but we’ve been banking on our killer being a man. The profile changes when we make it a woman.”
“And we think she knew at least two of the victims intimately,” Jag added. “Both of those victims had secret relationships. Callie is digging into the other victims’ past love lives.”
“But they weren’t all gay,” Marlo said.
“It’s an angle, and with these new trinkets showing up at my doorstep, I need to check everything no matter how absurd.” Jag tossed three coins he managed to pick up at the store so the rest could be logged into evidence. “So, my theory is we’re about to hit round three of the Trinket Killer’s cycle. What I need to find is round one.”
“I pulled up every cold case that I could find,” Marlo said.
“Yeah, but maybe we think we solved it.” Matt held up his index finger. “I pulled this file this morning. I made the arrest. It was rock solid, but I’ve always wondered if maybe we made a mistake.” Matt tossed another file on the table. “Hendrix was also found guilty of murdering his neighbor. The DNA on that nailed his ass. He even copped to it, but to this day, he swears didn’t kill the other girls.”
“When was this?” Jag asked.
“My first year as a beat cop. I chased him in a stolen vehicle. After the arrest, we found a couple of mood rings, and that’s what this killer would leave at the scene,” Matt said.
“How many kills?”
“Three in one year. All white girls between eighteen and twenty, and they all went to the same college and lived in the same dorm.” Matt stood behind Jag and tapped one of the reports in the folder. “The man I arrested was the janitor at the school. It was believed the girls, all cheerleaders, teased him or emasculated him, and he got his revenge.”
Jag remembered that case. It had an entire college community on edge for a year. “Were the girls stabbed?”
“The first one was hit in the head a few times,” Matt said. “The other two were stabbed. There should be pictures in there. First victim was found on the school grounds. The other two were in parks.”
“Like all of mine.” Jag flipped through another page and tapped a pen against his temple. He pulled out all the images of the dead bodies. Each one had a mood ring placed on their left
