face. 'He needs to be in on this.'
Magozzi raised his brows, then pointed at Gino and jerked his thumb toward the interrogation room. Gino held up one finger and nodded. As they settled into chairs and waited for Gino, Magozzi said, 'I was actually going to call you. I assume you know that Monkeewrench found pre-posts on all five of your murders, plus our river bride and two more you don't have bodies for yet.'
She folded her lips together and glanced at the doorway. 'Things are changing fast, but I'd like to wait for your partner so we only have to do this once.'
Gino appeared in the doorway, approached Chelsea with his hand extended. 'Gino Rolseth. And you're FBI.'
Chelsea stood up and shook his hand, reminding Gino that he was older than she was, and that once there was a time when standing to greet an elder was a sign of respect. 'How did you know?'
'Gotta tell you, you don't look like a Fed, but the suit's a dead giveaway.'
She tipped her head and gave him a deadpan look. 'I have a python miniskirt at home.'
Gino's brows crept up a notch. 'A Fed with a python miniskirt. That kind of gives me reason to live.'
Magozzi cleared his throat in what he hoped was a very professional manner. He felt a little like he did when Charlie the Stupid Dog forgot he was there and jumped all over Gino to lick his face. It wasn't that he had any lustful intentions toward Chelsea Thomas, except for the kind any man would have unless he was dead; it was just that men, even best friends, were in constant competition, and it always seemed like he was losing.
Chelsea walked to the door and closed it, then started unpacking her laptop. 'I understand both of you saw the Cleveland film.'
Gino slumped into a chair and grunted. 'Yeah, and we're still wishing we hadn't.'
She nodded. 'Agent Smith and I have agreed that you should see the rest of the films.'
'Oh, yippee.'
'We'd like a homicide detective's perspective on the scenes. A fresh eye. Also, Agent Smith said you'd all agreed to share information.'
Gino raised his brows 'Whoa. We thought he was kidding. Well, now that we're all warm and fuzzy and playing nice, here's something for you to take back to Smith. One of the pre-posts Monkeewrench found involved a possible homicide up north…'
'City of Big Water. That was the old one from January, right?'
'Right. I don't know if anyone's had a chance to look for posted film on that, but Grace asked us to check with the locals up there, see if we could match a body.' He flipped open his notebook. 'So I just got off the phone with my guy in Duluth and he said there were no homicides in January, just accidentals – a drunk snowmobiler decapitated himself on a barbed wire fence, a skier smacked into a tree, an ice fisherman fell into the drink and froze to death. Standard stuff, he said…'
Chelsea made a face. 'Decapitation by barbed wire is 'standard stuff'?'
'Happens all the time. I take it you didn't grow up here.'
'Southern California.'
'There you go. Anyhow, nothing happened on any golf course, either, which we figured would fit with the 'hole in one' message in the post. But here's something interesting. On February 1st, about thirty miles north of Duluth, they found a snowshoer dead at the bottom of a cliff on the North Shore of Lake Superior.'
Magozzi said, 'Sounds like another accident to me.'
'That's what I thought, but then Ole told me the guy was impaled on one of those ice spikes they get up there when the wind blows into shore.'
Magozzi grimaced. 'Poor bastard.'
'Actually, not really, according to Ole. The guy did time twice for child molestation. A real scumbag, and I hope he suffered. Anyhow, the cop Ole talked to said it looked like somebody had taken a big donut holer to him once they pulled him off the spike. Colorful language, huh?'
Magozzi's face went still. 'Hole in one.'
'Exactly what I was thinking. Of course, there were never any suspects because it was ruled accidental, but given the guy's past, there could actually be a lot of suspects. They're going to beat the bushes for us and do interviews with the guy's friends, family, colleagues, parents of his victims, like that. Maybe something will pop to connect the dots.'
Chelsea was sitting very quietly at the table, looking down at her lap as she listened to two homicide cops talk horror shop.
'Are you okay?'
She glanced up to see Magozzi's look of concern. 'Fine.' She flipped open her computer, then pulled up a list of the pre-posts and spun the screen to face Gino and Magozzi. 'Look at these – exactly as they appeared on the message boards.' She watched their expressions change as they read and reread the list. 'Revealing, isn't it?'
'Hmph,' Gino grunted, squinting at the screen. 'Look at that. They all start with city of something, and they've all got typos in the same places. Like a signature, almost, which is pretty compelling support for my traveling- serial-killer theory.'
Chelsea gave Gino a look he couldn't read, but it felt like he'd been slapped by a kitten. 'You need to see all the films now. Watch them as if you were responding to the crime scene, investigating'
After fifteen brutal minutes watching human beings kill other human beings, Magozzi felt like somebody had taken a donut-holer to
Gino put his head down and rubbed his eyes, as if to wipe away the unpleasant visuals that were flashing behind them. 'No way all those were done by the same killer.'
Chelsea nodded like a teacher who had heard the correct answer. 'And the film I'm going to show you next clinches it.'
Magozzi winced. 'Oh, Christ. There's a new one?'
'There were two warning posts without a corresponding video showing up on line, remember?'
'Yeah,' Gino said. 'Our North Shore Popsicle was one of them.'
Chelsea flinched a little at the phrasing. Yes. The other was 'City of Roses, Bert's barmaid, near deer,' posted just last night, so Monkeewrench went after it full bore, thinking there might be a chance to save a potential victim. Unfortunately, they found the film on MySpace this morning'
Gino rubbed at his eyes again, half-hoping he could blur his vision so he didn't have to see too much. 'So why does this film clinch the multiple-killer angle?'
'For one reason: because the victim is still alive. You'll see the other reasons when you watch the film.' She pushed a key combination and angled the laptop so Gino and Magozzi had a clear view of the screen and she had a clear view of their faces.
Reading people and the acts of people was as much of part of Chelsea's job as it was any cop's. She'd always thought it was pretty funny that her superiors thought she was a genius at it. All you had to do was pay attention. In profiling you looked at what they left behind; with suspects and witnesses you listened to what they said, and watched their faces when they weren't talking. That's all there was to it.
She'd counseled enough agents when things went south for them to recognize the patterns you saw only in law enforcement types and military men. Those were the ones whose jobs mandated a kind of emotional lockdown that made reading their faces a real challenge, and Gino and Magozzi were better than most.
They both had their stone faces on, which was pretty common for homicide cops looking at a scene. Most of the time they looked as dead as the victims, with no giveaway facial-muscle movement, no nervous tics or lip- pursing, none of the blinking-neon-sign clues. But their pupils still dilated or contracted, and their breathing patterns changed, and those things told you a lot.
To the casual observer, Magozzi and Gino looked utterly emotionless, but Chelsea saw the signs of extreme tension when they watched Marian cross the parking lot; the stunned surprise when the attacker grabbed her; the frustration and the rage when they saw her tied to the bumper; and then the transparent jubilation when Marian kicked her attacker between the legs.
'Oh, goddamnit to hell,' Gino groaned at the end, when the blood started to flow. 'Goddamnit, goddamnit. For a minute there I thought she was going to walk away.'
Magozzi was shaking his head. 'I can't believe she survived that.'
