“Sounds like eighty percent of the knives you’d find in any kitchen,” Dodge said.
“Fair enough,” Karr said with a nod. “But I thought it was something I should share with you both. The other similarity, of course, is the manual strangulation, but you already knew that. As for anything else, that remains for the autopsy I am still waiting to begin.”
Ellie took the hint for what it was. “Thank you for holding off on my account. You’ve got photographs of her in the event I need them later?”
“Of course.”
She had begun to make her way to the exit when she heard Dr. Karr behind her.
“You and your brother might want to be careful in the coming days,” he said.
“How so?” she said, turning around.
“No black cats or walking under ladders.”
Ellie still didn’t understand.
“I’m sorry. That was in poor taste. It’s just that this young woman was found in the parking lot of the business where your brother works, and I seem to recall that the two of you found Chelsea Hart while you were out jogging. I guess your family is another thing the victims have in common.”
And, with that, Ellie looked down at Rachel Peck’s body and saw the marks on her forehead from a different angle and in a whole new light.
Dodge had seen H 3. Hayden Holden Hammond. But, right side up, the marks made an even clearer pattern: EH. Ellie Hatcher.
This woman had been dumped behind Vibrations, where Jess worked. Jess lived with her. He was sure to tell her about it. Chelsea Hart’s body was left at the turnaround point on her regular running route—the route she and Jess took every day, at least five days a week, and never missed two days in a row. She’d been killed the morning after they had skipped a day. Chelsea’s cell phone alarm had been set for 5:32 in the morning. It had been set to ensure they’d find the body.
As her own initials stared at her from the forehead of poor Rachel Peck, Ellie realized where she had seen the woman’s awkward hairstyle before: that stupid fifth-grade class photograph that Jess had plastered throughout her apartment last year. The one for which she’d attempted to cut her own hair. The one that had been published in so many of the reports about her childhood.
CHAPTER 39
ELLIE BYPASSED THE CROWD at the courthouse elevators and took the stairs to the trial unit on the seventh floor. She was still trying to catch her breath when the receptionist informed her that Mr. Knight was on the fifteenth floor in the Homicide Investigation Unit with ADA Donovan. This time, she opted for the elevator.
Her cell buzzed during the wait. According to the screen, it was Peter. Again. Add that to the call she’d received in the car, and this was now four calls before ten-thirty in the morning. If he didn’t at least leave a message soon, he was about two attempts short of a serious conversation about restraining orders.
Ellie checked in with a receptionist at the Homicide Investigation Unit and was led to a conference room, where she found Simon Knight and Max Donovan seated across from each other at a cherry-veneer table, Rogan leaning against the matching credenza next to them.
“Excellent timing,” Knight said. “I’ve just gotten off the phone with Celina Symanski. She has agreed to meet you and Rogan at her father’s house in an hour. We figured she’d be more likely to break than Rodriguez or Susan Parker. We’ll work our way through the chain from there.”
“Very good,” Ellie said.
“Your partner told us you had a family emergency. I hope everything is under control.”
Rogan let out a small cough, and Ellie immediately filled in the blanks. Rogan was supposed to have informed Knight and Donovan about the body found at Vibrations, but he had held back in the event that the new case had nothing to do with their investigation. As he’d said, “We don’t give so-called exculpatory evidence to prosecutors.”
She was done with that tactic. She’d withheld her suspicions long enough. McIlroy had been onto something three years ago when he pulled those cold case files. When Chelsea Hart had been murdered, even Bill Harrington from his Long Island living room had sensed there was a connection. And now Rachel Peck’s body had convinced her.
But she was not like McIlroy. She was not going to keep this to herself. She might actually get somewhere if she trusted others to help. Maybe if McIlroy had worked his theory with a partner, Chelsea Hart and Rachel Peck would still be alive.
“My family emergency was a call from my brother. They found a body last night where he works, at a bar off the West Side Highway. The woman’s name was Rachel Peck. She was last seen at a club in the Meatpacking District, just three blocks away from Pulse. Like Chelsea Hart, she was manually strangled. She also had the same kinds of cuts across her face, and the ME says the same knife could have been used on both girls.”
“What the hell are you getting at?” Knight said. “We just spent the last hour with your partner coming back to terms with our case against Jake Myers. You’re telling me we’ve got another body to look at?”
“Another four, actually. A detective I worked with on a special assignment, Flann McIlroy—”
“I knew McIlroy,” Knight said.
“A few years ago, Flann was looking at three cold cases. All young women. All killed after late nights out.” She went on to explain Flann’s theory that they were all connected by a single killer who collected the victims’ hair, as well as how Chelsea Hart and Rachel Peck fit into the same pattern.
“Why are we just hearing about this?”
Knight must have noticed the look exchanged between Ellie and Rogan. He also understood its significance. “Ah, I see. Another one of those situations where the police think it’s better not to let the DAs know too much.”
“It sounded far-fetched until this morning,” Ellie said. “Rachel Peck changes that. We’ve now got the three cold cases, plus two girls in the last week. Same pattern. Five girls, all within ten years.”
“And I still don’t see the pattern,” Rogan said. “The victims don’t fit the same socioeconomic profile. We’ve got three murders all within a few years of each other, then we have nothing for six straight years. Now we’ve got two bodies in one week? Why the break? And the pattern with the hair isn’t really a pattern. He chops off all of Chelsea Hart’s hair, but leaves Rachel Peck’s.”
“I agree with you that Chelsea wasn’t living on the fringe the way the other girls were. But, remember, she had a habit of making up stories about herself. If she met someone at Luna, she could have made herself sound more like the other victims. And if whoever she met that night realized that Jordan McLaughlin might have caught him in the background of the picture taken at the bar, that would explain the very uncomfortable coincidence of her phone being stolen by a man who just happened to get killed himself the very next day.”
She had to back up to fill Knight and Donovan in on Darrell Washington’s murder and the discovery of merchandise in his apartment that was purchased with Jordan’s stolen credit card. She could tell they were having a hard time processing all of the new information.
“As for the hair, if he’s a fetishist, it’s not the process of cutting the hair that might be important to him. It’s having the hair itself after the girls are dead. It’s about having a souvenir. And look at the patterns within the patterns. The first of all the killings was Lucy Feeney. Her hair was hacked off, just like Chelsea Hart. The next was Robbie Harrington, where he cut only the bangs, just like Rachel Peck. The next was Alice Butler, where he may have somehow collected her hair after she had it cut at the hairdresser’s, or maybe he only snipped a few pieces. But, each time, he was more subtle as he gained more control, trying to obscure the similarities. Now, he reemerges, and follows the same pattern.”
“So why does he reemerge, as you put it?” Donovan asked. There was no skepticism in his tone, but Ellie wondered whether his formal demeanor was a sign of disappointment in her.
“Maybe he was out of state. Maybe in prison for something else.
But there’s another possibility, and this really is where I’m afraid I may sound insane. This is my first week in the homicide unit. I got that assignment after working an extremely high-profile investigation with Flann McIlroy two months ago—his last case, as we all know.”
Their eyes were all on her. They were following her but had no idea where she was taking them.
“I’m the one who found Chelsea Hart. She was on my regular running path. The alarm on her cell phone was set to go off right around the time I usually pass that spot. Rachel Peck was left where my brother works. Take a look at the incisions on Rachel Peck’s forehead.” She dropped a printout of the photograph she’d snapped at the ME’s office on the conference room table. “Am I crazy?”
“Are those your initials?” Donovan asked.
“That’s what I’m wondering.”
Rogan exhaled loudly.
“And look at Rachel’s hair. There’s a picture of me from when I was ten years old where my hair looks just like that. It was on Dateline. It was in People magazine. I’m more than a little embarrassed by the number of people who’ve seen me with precisely this hairstyle.”
Rogan cut in. “We’ve got about half an hour before we’re supposed to meet Celina Symanski in Queens. Did you forget that we have evidence proving that Jake Myers bribed a man to give us a false confession? We have Jake Myers’s DNA on the victim. We know for a fact who killed Chelsea Hart.”
“Or else Jake Myers is innocent but wasn’t so confident he’d get acquitted,” Ellie said.
“You two are making my head hurt,” Knight said. “I’m trying to process the implications of what you’re saying, Hatcher. If we’ve got a serial on our hands, it’s someone with a beef against you?”
“As unsettling as that is, yes, that’s what I’m beginning to think.”
“Any ideas as to who that person could be?”
She shook her head.
“No, of course not. Plus, it’s someone who would have to know how to find the girl with the camera phone.”
“Jordan McLaughlin. Yes, I suppose that’s right.” She was realizing that she sounded even crazier than she’d been prepared for. “He’d have to know where Jordan was staying in the city, and then Darrell Washington could have followed them to the museum from there.”
Rogan shook his head.
“The two of you better go if you’re going to make it to Astoria,” Knight said.
“So that’s it? You’re just ignoring everything I said?”
“No, Detective, because that’s not how we work here. We’re going to look at it all. That’s what we have to do once something’s been brought to our attention, which is why it wasn’t raised with us earlier, I suspect. But first we need to nail down what Jake Myers did with his hundred thousand dollars. We can force the Mohegan Sun to pull video of Myers leaving with the chips if we have to, but my guess is, you can break the daughter without it. We’ll use her for leverage against Susan Parker. We then flip Parker to get another crack at Myers, and then maybe we’ll be in a better position to know whether he’s our man or not. Unless, of course, you think we have more attractive alternatives.”
“No, sir.”
“Very well. I’m sending Donovan with you. This woman needs to know that her boyfriend’s immunity deal on his drug case is in jeopardy because of this bullshit. If a six-year mandatory minimum scared them into a stunt like this, a heart-to-heart about the potential maximums might actually get us the truth. In the meantime, I have obstruction charges to file against Symanski. Until we know what the hell’s going on, I don’t want either of these men out of our sight.”
DONOVAN MUST HAVE SENSED from the silence in the elevator that Ellie and Rogan needed a word in private. As they were leaving the courthouse, he found his excuse.
“I need to hit the men’s room. Pull the car around, and I’ll meet you out front?”
Ellie spoke up as they made their way to the Crown Vic.
“You think I torpedoed you.”
“Nope. If anything, I sandbagged you. We agreed I’d tell them where you went and what you were working on, and I didn’t.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“Honestly? I think you’ve got a wild imagination. Even if those cold cases had something to do with each other, I don’t think they’ve got anything to do with Chelsea Hart, or that girl you saw this morning. And I know for damn sure they don’t have anything to do with some personal beef against you.”
Rogan’s cell phone jingled. “Damn it,” he said, eyeing the screen. “It’s Eckels.”
“Yeah, Lou…. Hold on, I’m pulling into traffic.” He held the phone against his palm. “I knew he’d bird-dog us,” he whispered to Ellie. “He already wants an update.”
And then Ellie listened with as much gratitude as she could muster as her partner, despite his personal feelings, tried his best not to make her sound crazy.
THEY WERE WAITING for Max Donovan at the curb in front of the courthouse when Ellie recognized the man crossing Centre Street. She watched as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flipped it open. A second later, her own phone vibrated.
“Un-fucking-believable.” She was out of the car before Rogan could ask for an explanation. She flipped open her phone. “I’m twenty feet behind you,” she said.
Peter Morse was smiling when he turned to greet her, but his expression changed once he saw her face.
“How many times do you plan on calling me? I told you last night I needed some space, and this is how you respond?”
“Wow. I had no idea you were this angry at me.”
“So now I’m the problem. You get to write a book about me. You get to mislead me about your plans. You apparently even get to surf the Net for other women. But when I say I need a break—and that’s all I asked for, was just some time and space—then I’m angry, bitchy Ellie. That’s really fair, Peter.”
“I just want to talk to you. This book is my chance to get somewhere as a writer. If you would just try to look at this from my perspective—”
“I can’t do that right now, okay? And I explained that to you last night.”
“I hate the way we left things. Can we please just sit down and have a conversation about this?”
“No, we can’t. We can talk when we’re both ready. And your calling me over and over again does not help get me to a place where I want to talk things through with you.”
He raked his fingers through his hair, clearly frustrated.
“Damn it. I can’t believe I have to ask you what I’m about to ask you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My boss is a fucking asshole. Kittrie wanted me to call you this morning. I was trying to get around it, and he figured out we’re having some problems. So now he’s taking some perverse pleasure in my discomfort.”
“Jesus. You’re about to ask me about the case, aren’t you?”
He pressed his lips together.
“Go ahead and spit it out.”
“There was a body found last night at some strip club on the West Side Highway.” It dawned on Ellie that Peter hadn’t spent enough time with her brother even to know where he worked. “The girl’s friend said she wandered off from Tenjune. I’m covering it, but Kittrie wants to write a separate piece. It’s those cold cases you mentioned the other night. The ones Flann McIlroy was digging around in.”
Ellie felt a vein in her head starting to throb. She knew she shouldn’t have mentioned those cases to Peter. She shouldn’t have called George Kittrie. He wouldn’t have connected the dots on his own.
“He’s going to speculate about a connection?”
Peter nodded. “He’s working on it now. The three old cases. Chelsea Hart. Rachel Peck from this morning. I really hate this, Ellie, but he’s my boss, and you know what an ass he is.”
“Tell him you were a good boy who did precisely what he asked of you, and I said ‘No goddamn comment.’”
CHAPTER 40
CELINA SYMANSKI OPENED the front door of her father’s house before they had a chance to knock. She stepped aside, and they treated the movement as an invitation to come in.
She took a seat in the middle of a small worn sofa in the center of the living room, leaving only a single recliner for her three guests. Ellie helped herself to the spot. She was the obvious candidate to play the good cop in this scenario.
This was Ellie’s first opportunity to view the woman without her coat. She wore a hip-length cable-knit sweater and leggings. Both were stretched tight across her belly. She was an otherwise small woman. Young, probably early twenties. Light hair. Fair skin. Ellie’s best guess was that the baby would be coming in a couple of months.
“I’m Detective Hatcher. This is my partner, Detective Rogan. Max Donovan is from the district attorney’s office. I think you know why we’re here, Celina.”
She shrugged.
“Your father’s not a murderer.”
“I never said he was.”
“No, but he did. And he did it to protect you. Now it’s time for you to step up and protect him.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Celina said.
So much for guilt.
“What your father’s done is going to be all for nothing. We know about the payoff. You won’t be able to spend a nickel of that money. In the meantime, Mr. Donovan can tell you about the potential criminal charges.”
Donovan uncrossed his arms and took a step toward Celina, as if preparing to cross-examine a witness. “We’re filing charges against your father this afternoon, not for murder, as he intended, but for obstruction of justice. We also intend to reinstate drug charges against Nick Warden and Jaime Rodriguez.”
That got her attention.
“See,” Ellie said, “we also know about the father of your child.”
Angel’s Tip Page 25
