Critical Instinct(8)

He was still thinking about battered faces later that afternoon back at the Precinct. A beating like that with the dead woman from this morning, the other dead woman Alex had mentioned, and Paige? It was at least worth looking into.

He grabbed Paige’s file first since it was still on his desk. Looking at her bruised face was more difficult each time. But her face wasn’t what he needed to see. He needed the date of her attack.

April 30th, two years ago.

Brett sat back in his chair. Paige made the third woman who’d had her face horribly beaten on the last day of the month. That was a weird coincidence.

Coincidences did happen in Brett’s line of work. But he had learned over the years to never call something a coincidence until you were sure there were no deliberate links.

Brett began to look up state-wide crimes against women that happened on the last day of any month going back for the past five years. Anywhere the woman’s face had been battered.

Within a couple of hours Brett had another dozen electronic files to go through. The first seven didn’t have the same craniofacial trauma he was looking for, but then he found one that did. A murder victim from eighteen months ago. Brutally assaulted before being burned to death. Then he found another woman, also beaten before she was stabbed. A third from only six months ago. Strangled.

It was getting late now and he knew he should leave it until Monday, especially if he wanted to catch Paige’s art show, but Brett couldn’t force himself to stop. The more he looked into these cases, the more he began to recognize something evil.

Three women beaten and killed in the last three years in Oregon. Each on the last day of a month. But they’d all been killed in different ways and found in different locations across the state. At first glance there didn’t seem to be anything that tied the women to each other, but Brett would be looking further the first chance he got.

Brett printed the electronic case files with the pictures and laid them out on his desk, standing so he could see the pictures more clearly. There was definitely a body-type similarity in the other three women and the body he and Alex had been processing earlier. As soon as they found out who she was, Brett would have even more to examine, especially once he knew what she looked like when her face wasn’t covered in bruises.

“Wagner, what the hell are you doing?”

Damn it. Captain Ameling, and all his animosity, was not what Brett wanted to deal with right now. The man was obviously on his way out the door — rain jacket in one hand, briefcase in the other.

“Looking at what I think might be a pattern in some old cases, Captain.”

“Ones I assigned you?”

“No, sir. Something else I found.”

Ah, the evil-eye again. “Case load too small, Wagner? So bored you have to start searching for patterns in cases that have nothing to do with you? Don’t you think one of the other detectives would’ve found it if there was a pattern?”

Brett shrugged. He didn’t want to get into an argument with his new boss, but Brett was sure he was on to something. The older man turned away and Brett thought it was the end of the discussion. But Captain Ameling just put his jacket and briefcase down on another desk and turned back to Brett.

“Tell me.”

Brett pointed down at the files. “Four women in the last three years. All with heavy facial trauma before being killed. And all were killed in Oregon on the last day of the month.”

That got the man’s attention. “Same month?”

Brett shook his head. “No, different month for each.”

Captain Ameling bent to look more closely at the files. “Almost all of them were killed in different ways.”

“Yes, two was strangled, one burned and one stabbed, including the woman we found today whose identity has not been confirmed yet.”

The Captain cursed under his breath. Brett didn’t blame him, this was like a smorgasbord of murder methods.

The Captain pointed to one of the files after looking through it. “This burn victim wasn’t even labeled a homicide.”

“I know. But she had the same battered face and died on the last day of July, so I pulled her.”

“And what is that file under your arm?”

“Paige Jeffries. Beaten, but, of course, not killed.”

Captain Ameling sighed. “Date?”

“April 30th. Two years ago.”

“So, five women. Four with maxillofacial trauma, killed on the last day of any given month. Plus one who is still alive.”

“Yes.”

“But they were killed in different ways, found in different locations, with varying amounts of time between their deaths. And one of your dead ones was ruled an accident by whoever worked the case before. Not to mention the differences in the victim’s appearances — you’ve got blondes here. Brunettes. Auburn. There’s no reason to think this is the work of one person.”

It sounded a little far-fetched when Ameling put it like that. But far-fetched didn’t necessarily mean wrong.

“I know,” Brett responded. Just like he knew the Captain was going to shut him down.

“It’s not enough, Wagner. And I don’t want the word serial killer even breathed unless we know something for sure. Especially not to Chief Pickett.” Captain Ameling left Brett’s desk and walked over to his coat and briefcase.

Brett didn’t blame him. Nothing threw a city into a panic like announcing there was some sick killer on the loose.

“Yes, sir,” Brett muttered.

Ameling turned and looked back at Brett and the files on his desk. “But it’s a damn weird coincidence, so keep digging. That’s what you were brought here for, right? To see things we might have missed?”

That wasn’t what Brett had been expecting.

The Captain waved his arm out towards the files on Brett’s desk. “So work your magic.” The Captain turned and left without another word.

Brett looked at the files for a long time after Ameling left. Could they all be tied together? Ameling was right. There were lots of holes in the theory that these women had been killed by the same man.

But he looked at the pictures again. The women’s appearances were different in terms of hair color and skin tones, but they were all similar in build… thin, petite, with long hair. Almost fragile in appearance.

Just like Paige.

If all these cases were tied together then that might mean that Paige wasn’t just attacked.

She should’ve been murdered.

God, how it hurt him to see her battered face. He’d taken his fair share of punches to the jaw —scuffling with friends while growing up, not to mention a couple lucky hits from perps when he was a uniformed cop— but Brett had the build and stature to take it. Still each one had still hurt like a bitch.

Paige was so damn tiny. The thought of someone’s fists being used on her in that way made him physically sick to his stomach.

He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. She had survived; was alive. That was what was important. But the more he thought about it, the more he was sure whoever had attacked Paige hadn’t intended for her to live.

Captain Ameling didn’t want Brett mentioning a serial killer. And Brett wouldn’t, not until he had more proof. But in his gut he knew these cases were tied together.

And Paige was one of them.

Brett stood, sliding his chair back. He had to see Paige right now. Even though he knew she was fine, he had to look at her with his own eyes.

He would get back to these files tomorrow. They couldn’t wait until Monday. Brett had a feel that once he starting digging, he would find even more connections.

More dead women linked in some way.

But right now he just wanted to see the woman who probably should’ve been dead, but somehow was alive.

Brett didn’t know why Paige was alive when the others weren’t. He just knew he was thankful.





Chapter Seven





Brett wasn’t sure what he had been expecting at Paige’s art show. He’d had a moment’s hesitation when he’d arrived and immediately seen that getting into this shindig was definitely invitation-only. There was a line outside —longer than ones he’d seen for nightclubs in Miami— just for access. And none of those people, all obvious fans of Paige’s, were getting into the show. As Brett walked up and gave his name to the man with a headset at the front door, he wondered if Paige had remembered to leave a pass for him.

He felt more relieved than he should when he found out she had. Although he told himself it was just because he didn’t want to flash his badge to get inside.

Once in, he’d been expecting people milling around, looking closely at the artwork and quietly murmuring about the interpretive statement, or use of light, or rhythmic composition or any other number of phrases Brett wouldn’t really understand. He’d planned to do a lot of smiling and nodding, if anybody deemed talk to him at all.

But instead it was more like a fun, over-sized dinner party. People were walking around, chatting, laughing. Part of it may have been because of the wine and champagne served by the waiters circling around in an unobtrusive fashion. Part of it may have been the three-piece band playing in the corner. An upbeat tune from West Side Story, if Brett recalled correctly.

When you’re a Jet, you’re a Jet all the way…

But mostly it was Paige’s paintings that created the atmosphere. They were amazing. Compelling. Brett could barely drag himself away from one to look at the next. The colors.