Tucker was in his early twenties but, based on the shining pride in Malone’s eyes, held a lot of promise. He had a willow-reed frame and brown hair. He smiled, or rather twitched, uncomfortably as Amanda looked at him. “It appears like he may have accessed the property through a window in the back. It’s shut, but the screen was cut. There’s also a sliding patio door back there. It was unlocked.”
Amanda glanced at Malone, then Trent. “Then why enter through the window? Surely he would have tried the door first.”
“I’m thinking that’s likely the way he left, ma’am,” Tucker said. “It would have been much easier than crawling back out the window.”
“I agree. Good observations. Make sure to pass this information along to the CSIs. They should dust the windowsill for prints. Also, the inside handle on the patio door.” She offered a smile at the rookie, though she wasn’t entirely sure what had Malone so enraptured with him. Now wasn’t the time to ask, but she was interested in popping into the backyard. While she and Trent looked around, it would also give the CSIs and ME more time to work.
She walked to the rear of Shannon’s house. Trent came with her, but Malone didn’t.
Like at 532, there was a gate at the end of the driveway. She went through, not even knowing exactly what she was looking for. But she was interested in seeing where Shannon’s killer had gained entry with her own eyes.
She noted the overgrown bushes, large trees, and the relative seclusion. Windows in the houses butting against Fox’s property would have offered an exceptional line of sight, though. Amanda pointed them out to Trent. “Someone might have seen something.” She’d make sure that canvassing officers visited the residents. Depending on Shannon’s time of death, most people likely would have been sleeping, but they still needed to ask. “If we’re looking at the same killer,” she added, “his killing Fox was a brazen move.” She hated that her mind was going to the dark place where serial killers lurked. But even if the same person was behind the murders, didn’t a serial killer by definition have more than two victims? She really didn’t want to think about that.
“That’s for sure. Striking twice in two days, and on the same street? I’d definitely say he wanted to make a statement.”
“The mutilation tells us that, no matter who killed her. But what are you thinking?” she asked.
“Pretty much the same. And, if it’s the same killer, he’s willing to take out anyone who interferes with his plans.”
The picture of a true psychopath… “Okay, well, if it is him,” she began, “let’s hope his impulsiveness caused him to screw up and leave us evidence we can work with.”
“We can hope. Also, if it is the same guy—just continue to hear me out—I don’t think we’re looking for someone who wants to hide their actions. Rather, he wants to draw attention to them. Otherwise, why kill Jane Doe in an abandoned house and proceed to set it on fire? If he just wanted to dispose of the body, why not burn it a field? I’d say he wants his fifteen minutes of fame.”
She regarded him, smirking. “You a profiler now?”
“I worked a case involving a serial killer before.”
“Yes. One.” She arched her brows. She’d found out all about Trent’s fifteen minutes of fame years ago at a barbecue that Becky had held at her house. He’d helped the FBI track down a serial rapist and murderer and almost got a one-way ticket to the white light.
“Just trust me. The last thing I want is for some serial killer to be on the loose.”
“I’m with you there. Let’s just explore it being an isolated incident before we get carried away.” The message from the note at the grave screamed at her, despite her words, and made her feel hypocritical. Whether the sender was Fox’s killer or not, just the fact that he said she was on the same team as him made her determined to prove him wrong. She should probably tell Trent about it, but then he might lose all objectivity.
“True enough, and I hope we’re getting ahead of ourselves.” Trent hopped up on a narrow deck that ran along the backside of the house and went toward a window with a pile of screen on the boards beneath it. “The entry point Officer Tucker mentioned.”
She nodded. “Let’s go back upstairs and see if the ME and CSIs have anything to tell us.” She’d seen enough, and it was time to get some answers.
Eighteen
Amanda and Trent headed back inside Shannon’s house and passed the CSIs, who were leaving. She heard Officer Tucker calling to the investigators just as the front door closed behind them. Upstairs, they found Paula Jeffery crouched near the body, her booty-covered shoes straddling the pool of blood.
Jeffery pressed a hand to the side of Shannon’s neck, her index finger and thumb spreading out and indicating the space between them. “There’s a prick in her skin. It’s possible she was pierced with a needle.”
“She was drugged,” Amanda concluded. “You’ll have a full tox panel run on her?”
“You can count on it.”
“Cause of death?” Amanda crossed her arms so tight, she had to release a little to expand her chest.
Jeffery didn’t respond.
All righty then…
Amanda took in all the blood on Shannon’s robe and pooled on the floor near her. “Was she alive when her tongue was severed?”
Jeffery kept her gaze on the body as she spoke. “She had a heartbeat, yes. As for how much she was ‘with it,’ though, would depend on the drug in her system.”
“Our killer may have shown some mercy. That’s if he used a type of paralytic,” Trent reasoned.
Jeffery glanced over her shoulder. “If.”
“Did she bleed out?” Trent asked, and Amanda winced at him. He had every right to ask whatever question he liked, but Jeffery didn’t seem to
