“You mean not necessarily for my cop skills?”
“That, too.”
We fall silent, then Tomasetti asks. “Have you had any luck identifying the location where these videos were taped?”
“There’s nothing distinguishable. I could probably send out a couple of guys to canvass some of the area motels, try to match up the decor. See if we can get a name that way.”
“Probably didn’t use a real name,” he says. “One of the clerks might recognize Mary Plank from a photo. If they have security cameras, you’ll have even more to go on. Might be worth a shot, Kate.”
I like the way he says my name. I want to say more, but the words aren’t there. I want to ask about the panic attacks. His job. I want to tell him I miss him. I want him to tell me he’s going to be all right. Instead, I tell him about Billy Zook’s inability to help us with the sketch.
“I talked to Deborah Kim when she got back.” He sighs. “Composite would have been a nice break.”
“Billy was the one I chased that night in the rain.” Across from me, my computer screen blinks into screensaver mode.
“If he’s a peeper, his being there makes sense.”
“Had the killers seen him that night, they probably would have killed him, too.”
“Right along with the others.”
I think about Billy Zook and all the ways his involvement might have played out. All the ways a composite sketch would have helped. I feel like I’m on the verge of some discovery—some breakthrough—but my mind hasn’t quite figured it out yet.
“What if Billy
“He didn’t.”
“Hypothetically speaking, what if he had?”
“Hypothetically speaking, we’d identify the son of a bitch and make the arrest.”
“What if the killer knew there was a witness?”
“Kate, are you going somewhere with this?”
“I’m not sure.” But my mind is spinning, taking me through some of the possibilities of what might have happened if Billy had been able to give us a decent composite. All the ways I could use the information to my advantage. “If Billy was a viable witness and the killer knew it, do you think it’s conceivable that Billy could be in danger?”
“It’s conceivable. Killers have been known to kill witnesses. But we’re playing what-ifs.” He pauses. “Should I be worried about something?”
“You’ll be the first to know when I figure it out.”
CHAPTER 25
At just before seven A.M., I’m in my office, sitting at my desk. For the last hour I’ve been trying to ward off a hangover headache with coffee, but I’m not having much luck. In the visitor chair across from my desk, Skid works on his shift report. Glock stands at the door, an apple fritter in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. Pickles drifts in, smelling like cigarettes and English Leather and looking like death warmed over. He’s not the morning type. Behind him, T.J. carries on a conversation on his cell. I can tell by the silly grin he’s talking to his girlfriend.
“I know you guys want to know why you were summoned here so early.” I glance at my watch. “Mayor Brock should be here any time.”
“Speak of the devil,” Glock mutters.
“That would be me.” Mayor Auggie Brock appears at the door. He’s a short, rotund man with hairy ears and overgrown eyebrows that remind me of an aging yorkie. He’s snagged a powdered doughnut from the coffee station and bites into it with the relish of a starving man as he drops into the second visitor chair across from me. “I gave up my morning walk for this.”
“Thanks for coming in so early, Auggie.” I scan the faces in the room and take a moment to get my words in order. “While I was reviewing the disks from the Long and Plank cases last night, I discovered this.”
Leaning across my desk, I pass out the photos I printed. “The hand you see in that still does not belong to Todd Long.”
A ripple of surprise goes around the room. For the cops, it’s a collective sound of sudden interest. For Auggie, it’s the sound of a man who’ll now have to deal with an unhappy town council. Nothing gets the bean counters more perturbed in a tourist town than a murderer on the loose.
Auggie looks like he’s going to throw up. “Are you certain?”
“I’m certain enough to keep the investigation open.”
He groans, a little boy whose balloon has just been burst by the neighborhood bully.
Glock speaks up from his place by the door. “Can we ID this guy using the scar?”
“We can try.” I look at T.J. “I want you to take this photo to every doctor in town. Millersburg, too.”
“I’m there.”
I turn my attention to Glock. “I want you to talk to Scott Barbereaux. Tell him about the wine bottle we found. Ask him when he was at Miller’s Pond. Find out who he was with. Verify it. Ask him about September twenty-second. Rattle his cage a little.”
Glock nods. “My pleasure.”
“Make sure you get a good look at his right hand,” I add.
I look at the mayor. “Auggie, I was wondering if you could call an emergency town council meeting and let the members know about this. Tell them we’re working around the clock and that I’ll have a press release late this afternoon.”
The mayor sighs. “Boy, it’s going to hit the fan when they find out the case isn’t as closed as they’d like it to be.”
“Maybe you could remind them of what another murder would do to tourism.”
“Good point.” He gets to his feet. “Anything else, Kate?”
I shake my head, motion toward my team. “We’re just going to go over some police stuff.”
Grimacing, he nods and heads for the door.
I wait a beat, then give Glock a pointed look. “Close the door.”
Arching a brow, he leans over and the latch clicks shut.
I scan the men’s faces. “Let me preface by saying none of what I’m about to say leaves this room.” Doughnuts, coffee and the earliness of the hour are forgotten. Their collective attention focuses on me. “We know the accomplice is still out there. As far as the investigation, we have two things going for us at this point. The scar. And the DNA from the semen we found inside Mary Plank. If the DNA belongs to Todd Long, we’re back at square one. If it doesn’t match Long, we may have our first big break. However . . .” I pause, let the word sink in. “If the accomplice isn’t in the CODIS database, we’ll be left high and dry.”
“How long until DNA results come back?” Pickles asks.
“Tomasetti is pushing, but he can only do so much. The lab is backlogged. It’s going to be a few more days.” I grimace. “Too damn long. This killer is an animal. Savage enough to cut a fetus from a woman’s body for the sole purpose of keeping us from doing a paternity test.”
The men nod in unison.
“I think I figured out a way to smoke this bastard out of his hole,” I say.
“How?” T.J. asks.
“We set a trap with bait he won’t be able to resist.”
He looks around as if wondering if he’s the only one who’s not following. “What bait?”
“Billy Zook.”
A stir goes around the room. Not a stir of alarm. A stir of anticipation. The kind hunters feel in the moments before they embark on the pursuit of a dangerous animal.
“Does the killer know the Zook kid witnessed the murders?” Glock asks.
“Not yet. But if I release that information to the press, you can bet he’ll be aware of it by the end of the day.”
“The media’s kind of a wild card, isn’t it?” T.J. asks.
