When Sin pulled up the photo, she leaned in. “She looks a lot like the Painted Beauty Killer victims.”
Charlie ignored the comment and continued, “The next photo you’ll see is of her body when she was found.”
The next picture that filled the screen startled Sin. She tried to exhale, but the bile that filled her throat made it difficult. She reached for a glass of water and sipped. “Dear Jesus,” was her only comment.
“Even Jesus couldn’t help these girls,” Charlie said.
Sin could hear Charlie take a deep breath. “Tell me what you see.”
“You know damn well what I see, Charlie.” She looked over at Fletcher and Garcia, “what we all see.”
“I’m serious, Sinclair. I have never been able to look at any of these pictures with an objective eye. When I look at these girls, all I see is the look on their parents’ faces when they identified the bodies of their children. I still hear their parents’ cries in my sleep. I need you, all of you, to tell me what you see.”
Sin’s mouth felt as if a sudden sandstorm had blown in. It was so dry she had trouble forming words. In all the years she had known Charlie, she had never heard him sound flustered. She paused long enough to take another sip of water. “Okay,” she said. “I see a girl who has been cut. Not just cut. It looks more like she was slashed in a violent rage. If I hadn’t seen the before photo, I’d have had a hard time identifying her. The killer also cut a message across her chest. The word Slut is carved into her skin.”
“What does all that tell you?”
Fletcher entered the conversation. “It tells us that Vincent Ash was a sadistic bastard that liked to inflict maximum pain before choking the life from his victims. But what does any of this have to do with our case?”
“Stay with me, Fletch, for a few more minutes, and I promise to bring this full circle,” Charlie answered. “Sinclair, have you had time to review the Ash files?”
“Of course, why?”
“Vincent Ash was not a big man.”
“I know,” she replied, calling up the information in her brain. “Slight build, five-seven, around one hundred thirty pounds.”
Charlie continued, “And he was a professor of poetry in Iowa and Illinois. He was a good looking young man and had a personality that attracted the ladies.”
Sin nodded at her team. “He had a weakness for sleeping with his female students.”
Charlie continued through the speaker. “Exactly. And from the file, you know that he slept with all of the victims. You have to remember that this was the late sixties/early seventies which were all about sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
“Vincent was our first suspect. He was also the first one we checked off our list. Killing these girls wasn’t who he was. Even if he did kill them in a drug induced, lover’s quarrel, he never would have cut them like what you’re looking at.” There was a brief silence. “At least that’s what we thought. With every new development in that case, the evidence kept pointing back to him. And it all came to a head on May 27, 1971.
“Vincent moved a lot. His positions at the colleges were always temporary. Somehow, we lost him until we got an anonymous phone call on the morning of the twenty-seventh.”
“Charlie,” Sin interrupted, “I thought the file stated that fingerprints found at the scene of the last victim was what led the Bureau to Vincent?”
“That’s what they put in the official file,” Charlie answered. “You have to remember the time. There was a lot of turmoil and competition between the FBI and the CIA. The Bureau thought it sounded better if we solved the case without outside involvement.
“Anyway, back to May 27. The caller said that they had seen a newscast that showed Vincent as a person of interest and that he had been spotted in downtown Davenport, Iowa. He was living in an old, four-story mansion that had been converted into apartments. The house was located near a couple of community colleges and one major university, so it made sense. My partner, Raul Sanchez, and I, responded to the call.”
“I noticed from the official files that Mayor Sanchez was your partner,” Sin spoke. “Are you the one who requested my involvement in this case?”
“No, that was Raul. He was a fairly new agent, like myself. A smart, intuitive agent. The Ash case was not his first, but close to it. After it was over, he asked for a transfer to Miami and left the FBI shortly after.”
“Getting back to the case,” Sin said.
“Yes,” Charlie said. “You mentioned that one of Ash’s vics showed a resemblance to the Painted Beauty case.”
“The before pictures match in every way,” Sin said, “but the after photos are all wrong.”
“How’s that?” Charlie asked.
“Besides the obvious mutilation, there is no ‘artistic flair’ when it comes to Vincent Ash’s killings,” Sin said. “No staging. No makeup.”
“And what does that tell you?”
Sin swept her hair from her eyes and raised an eyebrow. “Are you being the master or grasshopper? I’m getting confused.”
“Stop being a wiseass and answer me.”
“It tells me a few things. If we were looking at the same perp, which we’re not because yours is dead, we’d be looking at progression in the MO. Over forty years have passed since he struck the first time, so it would make sense that he had learned a few new things. If we are dealing with a new perp, which makes more sense, then we are dealing with someone who has been under the influence of two people—your original killer and someone else.”
“You’re correct, and that brings me back to May 27, 1971. When we entered the front door of Ash’s residence, we heard a gunshot. We ran up
