Body Count

by P. D. Martin

  “That’d fit a lot of guys. But it’s still interesting. Anything else?”

  I think of something, but can hardly bring myself to say it.

  “Yes?” Darren prompts.

  It can’t be, can it?

  I take a deep breath in, delaying verbalizing it. “Josh is left-handed and the knife wounds indicate a left-hander. The note was written by a left-hander.”

  Darren nods.

  “It’s a lot of coincidences,” I say.

  “Yes. It’s the locations that we need to confirm. And see if he really did interview George Daly all morning yesterday.”

  “I think I better talk to O’Donnell too.” I pause. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. This is more important than protecting my career. A helluva lot more important. But it’s also a pretty heavy accusation. It’ll probably get back to Josh. Are you ready for that?”

  Darren’s right. “Let’s check out the dates before I say anything to O’Donnell. See if they match. I’ll check out Josh’s movements during Daly’s questioning too.”

  I read the article… How ridiculous. Who’s playing whom?

  Fourth Slasher victim gives police lead

  The fourth Slasher victim, an off-duty call girl, was found late last night. Police believe the killer didn’t realize the woman was a prostitute when he picked her up.

  This latest murder comes on the tail of the FBI profile of the killer. According to the FBI, police are looking for a white male in his early to late thirties. He is a blue-collar worker or possibly a security guard.

  Blue-collar, my ass. But it doesn’t matter. I’ve got their attention now.

  It’s broad daylight, a risk I wouldn’t normally take, but my patience is running out. Sophie’s almost ready to be mine.

  At her apartment block I randomly press apartment numbers. Someone buzzes me in. The security door releases and I walk up the three small steps into the main foyer. She’s on the third floor, apartment 310. I take the stairs, head down. No one can see my face. At her door I look around. The coast is clear. My lock-picking gun gently hums and within a few seconds I’m in. I don’t have as long as I’d like, but I can’t resist being inside her apartment once more.

  I look around. It’s immaculate. I must have her.

  I survey each room, spending the longest in the bedroom. I look through her chest of drawers, her closet, her makeup and her jewelry. I smell her clothes, letting myself become accustomed to her scent. I saw her in a beige, low-cut blouse. I hunt for this item and find it in the dirty-clothes basket. I take it up to my nose and inhale deeply…

  She smells beautiful. I can’t wait until she’s really mine. I keep the blouse to my nose and turn around to look at her bed. I’d like to lie down, smell this blouse and picture her naked…but I don’t have time. I put the blouse back in the basket and move to the kitchen. It’s spotless.

  I open her fridge: cottage cheese, yogurt, milk, eggs, crisp vegetables, chili sauce, a few different curry pastes and a bowl of leftovers—chicken curry. I check all the cartons and jars. They’re all fine, nothing past its use-by date. People really have no idea how many germs are out there, especially in dairy. But maybe she knows. I have to look after my girls. Keep them healthy for me.

  The leftovers? They could be swarming with listeria and other bacteria. But it’s too noticeable, too obvious. I don’t want her to guess I’ve been here.

  I leave, frustrated. I haven’t made my mark. I’ll come back another time.

  CHAPTER 19

  “Where are we at with our lists, people?” O’Donnell says at our 6:00 p.m. meeting. “I know we only got them a few hours ago, but I want to see some progress.”

  Flynn clears his throat. “I’ve tracked down eleven out of my twenty-three and eliminated ten out of that eleven.”

  “Eliminated how?”

  “Alibis, too different from the profile, or right-handers.”

  “Okay. Good work. What about the remaining one?”

  “I’m going to question him tonight.”

  “Good. You’ll take Jones?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll have to keep it to two-person questioning for the moment. We don’t have the resources for anything more.” O’Donnell waves his finger at us. “But I don’t want anyone questioning a suspect by themselves.”

  We all nod.

  “Couples, where are you at?”

  “I’m halfway through my list of eighteen names.”

  “Any contenders or eliminations?” O’Donnell asks.

  “All eliminated.”

  “Jones?”

  “Same as Couples. The left-hander thing is really narrowing the list down.”

  With only thirteen to twenty percent of the population left-handers, it’s a godsend when the physical evidence lets you eliminate over eighty percent of the population. That’s eighty percent of your suspect pool gone in one fell swoop.

  “How are you finding out if they’re left-handers?” I ask.

  “Calling on behalf of the Society of Left-handers,” O’Donnell says. Obviously this strategy was worked out when I was back at Quantico with Amanda.

  “Nice.”

  O’Donnell stands up and paces. “Still, we need visual confirmation at this stage. If our guy’s on to us, he may be wary. We’ve whittled the list down to one hundred and twenty in total. Let’s get picky. Once you’re through the list, go back to the ones that only got eliminated on the strength of the right-hander lead. I want you to actually see them using their right hand before we cross them off the list altogether. Krip?”

  Krip leans forward ever so slightly. “I’m about halfway through. One contender. I’ll pay him a visit tonight.”

  “Okay, take Couples as backup. Jones?”

  “I’m almost through my list. One contender too…oh, and Marco.”

  I study O’Donnell’s face. Nothing. Either he’s got his poker face on or he doesn’t suspect Josh.

  “I was wondering if I’d come up,” Josh says. “Given I studied at Michigan an’ all.”

  “You lived in Arizona and Chicago?” Flynn asks.

  “Yep. I lived most places growing up. My old man’s a politician. And then I moved around with the air force and the Bureau.”

  I look at the other faces in the room. It’s hard to tell if they suspect Josh. They must be wondering, at least—how many coincidences is one too many? Or maybe I’m being crazy. I mean, he has admitted to being in the states in question, surely he wouldn’t be so relaxed about it if it were him. Thrill killer or not, our guy’s smarter than that, isn’t he?

  I study him closely, looking for a telltale sign like sweat, blinking or fidgeting. But he’s clean. He smiles my way but I look away.

  O’Donnell takes his glasses off. “Marco, how’s your list looking?”

  “Getting smaller. I eliminated quite a few on the left-hander thing and I’ve got two possibilities that I’ll pay a visit tonight or tomorrow morning. I’ll take Anderson with me.” He smiles at me again and I shift awkwardly in my chair before flashing an insincere smile his way.

  “Fine. Fine. By the way, people, I believe most of you know that Anderson’s got a tail on her at the moment.”

  Everyone nods.

  “We’ve got a spare room at my place,” Flynn says. “The wife won’t mind.”

  “Thanks, but no. I’m hoping I’ll be a piece of tempting bait for our perp.”

  “Be safe,” O’Donnell says.

  “I’ll be fine. I’m sure no one will get past Laurel and Hardy.” I’ll actually have three law-enforcement professionals looking out for me because I’ve also invited Darren to stay on my sofa bed—but I don’t bother telling the others that.

  Flynn laughs. “Yeah, I saw them sitting out front. They really do look like Laurel and Hardy.”

  O’Donnell doesn’t laugh. “It’s Montana and Sargent, both good agents.” He gives Flynn a look, then shoots his blue eyes my way again. They soften slightly. “But it wil
l be someone different by the time you get out. Shift change.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  “How did you go with the lock-picking lead, anyway, Anderson?” O’Donnell asks.

  “I spent most of the afternoon going through the case files, and I think he started using the lock-pick in Michigan.”

  “Why?” asks O’Donnell, still skeptical.

  “The victims in Arizona were all abducted outdoors and a reasonable distance from their homes. It wasn’t until Michigan that some of the victims were abducted closer to home. Like in parking lots, or at the door to their homes. In two of the Michigan murders all the lights were on, and at one place there was even food in the oven. The victims weren’t planning on leaving.”

  “Okay. Run with this hard. He’s definitely getting in.”

  Krip looks at me somewhat apologetically. No one really believed me before, and Krip was one of the public disbelievers.

  “I’d say they may have even been abducted from inside their places.”

  “But no sign of a struggle?” O’Donnell says.

  “No. They may have left in a hurry if he spun a story about a loved one.”

  O’Donnell scratches his face. “Okay, keep working on those lists. Anderson, I want you to question Marco’s suspects with him. Let’s see if we can’t get enough to make an arrest.” He looks down at his notes. “Oh, by the way, I’m halfway through my list. All eliminated so far. We’ve got computers and forensics until midnight tonight, if you need ’em.”

  “Anything on the mirror?”

  “The report’s coming back to me tonight.”

  Everyone starts packing up.

  “You worried about the message?” Josh asks quietly.

  “A little.”

  “I’m worried too. More than a little,” he says.

  I smile, trying to be normal. But it’s no good. I have to put my mind at rest about Josh.

  “So, tell me about the questioning of George Daly.”

  “Not much to tell. O’Donnell did most of it.”

  “But you were there, right?”

  “For some of it. We questioned him for a few hours. Checking out his story.”

  “So what parts were you there for?” I bite my lip.

  “About two hours. We took shifts so we could all get some sleep.”

  “So you slept at the station?”

  He looks at me oddly. “Some of us did, but I went home. It’s just around the corner. What’s this about, Sophie?”

  The room has emptied, except for Couples. Then she leaves. I’m alone with Josh. I back away from him and stuff the rest of the files into my briefcase.

  “What’s wrong, Sophie?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “You don’t regret what happened, do you?” He takes both of my hands in his.

  He thinks it’s about sex?

  “What?” I pull my hands away from his. “How can you ask me that now?”

  “I’m sorry. Sophie, I’m worried about you.” He moves closer.

  I back away again. “I’m fine.”

  “Look, let’s ring Marty about the mirror. See if he’s got prints or anything. I know that message is freaking you out.”

  It’s not the message. It’s Josh. But I am anxious to find out anything I can about the evidence at Sam’s place.

  Josh flips his binder shut and slips it into his briefcase. “It won’t take long. And then we can go and interview my suspects.”

  He switches to speakerphone and is about to start dialing, when my cell phone rings.

  I pick it up. “Agent Anderson.”

  “Hi, Sophie. It’s Amanda”

  I hold my hand up to Josh, asking him to wait, and then walk off to one side.

  “Hi, Amanda.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “You know. Fine. I guess.”

  “It will get easier, Sophie. You just have to give it time.”

  Josh leans against the window, one leg bent with the sole of his foot on the window. He’s pretending not to listen.

  “I know. I know. I’m trying not to think about Sam, and the case is keeping me occupied.” But now that Amanda’s brought it up, the pain comes back. A lump sticks in my throat—my emotions aren’t doing what I’m telling them to.

  “You were pretty upset in our session today and I wanted to see if you needed to talk some more.”

  “I’m fine.”

  Silence.

  “Honest.” I’m not surprised she doesn’t believe me. For the first part of the session we talked about Sam. I could deal with that…sort of. But then she brought up John and my tough exterior crumbled. Within minutes I was in tears, confessing the sense of responsibility I feel over their deaths. But I couldn’t tell her why. I couldn’t tell her about the psychic stuff.

  Once the tears had started, I couldn’t stop them and by the end of the session I was a mess.

  “Well, I’ll see for myself tomorrow.”

  “Yep,” I say, dreading my next appointment.

  “Any breakthroughs from the task force?”

  “Not really. It’s a process of elimination. We’ve got quite a good list to work from.”

  I look up at Josh again. He smiles and I force myself to return the smile.

  “Listen, Sophie, you’re going to get through this. You’ll find the guy and I’ll help you deal with the loss of Sam.”

  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to deal with it. But I can’t say that.

  “Thanks, Amanda.”

  “And there are agents on you, right?”

  “Yes. Two of them.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Yep, thanks. Good night,” I say and hang up.

  Josh pushes himself off the window. “Amanda Rosen?”

  “Yeah. She was just checking up on me.”

  He nods. “Sophie?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know I’m here for you too.” He pauses and I look around, hoping someone will show up so I can avoid this conversation.

  “I don’t want to crowd you when you’re dealing with so much, but…” He pauses again. “Well, I’m here for you. That’s all.”

  “Thanks, Josh,” I say with as much sincerity as I can muster.

  I’m glad we’re in a work environment, otherwise Josh would be trying to hug me now.

  “Let’s try Marty,” I say.

  Josh starts to dial.

  “Do you think Marty will still be there?” I ask.

  “Yeah. He said he’d be staying back, with everything that’s happening.”

  Marty answers the phone after several rings.

  “Marty, it’s Josh. I’ve got you on speakerphone. Sophie’s here.”

  “Hi, guys.” A beat of silence. “How are you holding up, Sophie?”

  “I’m okay.” A standard response. Of course it’s not true, but everyone knows that.

  “Thought we’d see if you’ve got anything on Sam’s mirror,” Josh says.

  “The mirror.”

  Papers shuffle in the background.

  “We’ve found prints, but only Sam’s and the cleaning lady’s,” he says. “The substance used for the writing is a blend of nail polish and blood.”

  He gives us time for it to sink in.

  “Blood?”

  “Charming, isn’t it. Concentration’s at nine percent.”

  “Whose blood?” I ask.

  “DNA match just came back.” He pauses. “It’s Sam’s blood.”

  “How did he mix it?” Josh says.

  “He put blood into the nail-polish bottle. We examined the remainder,” he says. “And it’s been applied with the normal applicator.”

  “So, we’ve got nothing… Yet again.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie. It doesn’t look promising. The guy’s been careful. Real careful.”

  “And the writing?”

  “The handwriting analyst has positively matched it to the note Sam got last week.�
�

  “That’s no surprise,” I say.

  “I’m finishing up my report for O’Donnell now.”

  “Yeah, he said it was coming through tonight.”

  We’re silent, heads bowed for a moment.

  “Thanks, Marty,” Josh says. “Speak to you later.” He hangs up the phone.

  I grab my briefcase, disheartened.

  “I’ve got two names. Shall we go and interview them?” Josh says.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you sure you’re up to it?”

  “I’m fine,” I say. “Let’s take Darren.”

  “Darren?”

  “Detective Carter.”

  Josh winces. Jealousy or fear of being found out?

  “He might be useful from the Arizona point of view,” I say.

  But that’s not the real reason. The real reason is that I don’t want to be alone with Josh, even with two agents watching me.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Josh says.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just not crazy about the guy.” He shifts uneasily from foot to foot. Josh is worried that his involvement in Arizona will come out. So he should be. A moment of courage takes over—he had his chance to tell me.

  “I know all about you and Arizona,” I say.

  Josh looks at me. What’s he thinking? Is he trying to come up with an excuse?

  Finally he responds.

  “I wondered if Carter would tell you. I was going to tell you myself. That’s why I called.”

  “And you still didn’t tell me!” I pause. “Why, Josh? Why would you keep that from me?”

  “Because it was nothing. I was one of over a hundred people they interviewed. I was never a real suspect.”

  “That’s not how Darren tells it.”

  Josh takes a sharp breath in and his eyes narrow slightly. “And I wonder why he’d say that to you, Sophie.” His tone is sharp.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean. Darren Carter has an ulterior motive. You!”

  “You’re accusing him of lying?”

  “He’s painting the picture to suit his needs.”

  “Are you sure that’s what this is about?”

  “I didn’t care that the police questioned me. I had nothing to hide.”

  “Really?”

  “Sophie, what are you saying?”