Cut to the Bone(48)
“You arrest the driver?”
“Never found one,” Sheridan said. “It was pitch black from thunderstorms and nobody got a description. Technically a homicide since the driver didn’t stop, but everyone figured accident. Kid with an iPod, no crosswalk, poor visibility, you know how that goes.”
“Sure do. So why call me?”
“I found two kitchen matches at the scene. Couldn’t make them fit anything, so I moved on. I’m hoping they mean something to you.”
Emily scribbled furiously. “I don’t know yet. Where exactly did you find them?”
“Down his jeans.”
“Whose jeans? The victim’s?”
“Yup,” Sheridan said. “One dropped out of his waistband when I rolled him. I searched and found a second, lodged in his pubic hair. Both burnt, like your posting said.” She made a sound like slurping coffee. “That’s why I remember them so well. No man sticks matches down there. Good way to start a fire in a place you don’t want.”
“Thompson,” a sheriff’s detective rumbled. “LAPD on Six. About your matches.”
“Line Nine,” another hollered. “Baton Rouge homicide.”
Branch stiffened. Alarms clanged in her head. “Mimi, can you hold a minute?”
“No. I’m late for a stakeout.”
“OK, I’ll call you back after I’ve talked to my boss. If I’m right, you’re going to want to reopen that investigation - oh, wait. Was the victim’s nose broken?”
“Hmm. Now that you mention it . . .”
She took the investigator’s number, told everyone to take detailed notes and callback information. Then reconnected with Mason.
“We should have been careful what we wished for, Gene,” she said, staring at Marty’s broad back. “Can you fax everything on your dead barber?”
12:12 p.m.
“Everything works fine,” the state executioner protested. “The final three rehearsals went like clockwork. Why mess with success?”
The electrician rubbed the copper electrodes with fine-grit garnet cloth. They gleamed like wet pumpkins.
“I want perfection,” he said, blowing gently. Metal scattered like pixie dust.
“Perfection means Covington’s happy,” the executioner said.
“So think of this as insurance he stays that way.”
Pause.
“Hand me a cloth,” the executioner said.
1:01 p.m.
“Are you sure, Detective?” Cross asked, eyebrows arching.
“No,” Emily said, desperately wanting to be wrong. What were the odds of two serial killers choosing ultra-low-crime Naperville - choosing me - to ply their hideous trade? A billion to one? Trillion? “I’m not sure at all, Chief. But I have this feeling.”
“Feeling.”
“Yes.” She patted her belly. “Here. Backed up by the physical evidence.”
Branch passed out summaries of the phone calls. The NCIC reboot this morning had opened the floodgates.
“Where were Sage Farri’s matchsticks?” a sergeant asked as he flipped pages.
“In the roses that arrived the day he died,” Emily said, explaining the setup.
“Hospital security tapes?”
“Minimally useful,” she said. Thanks to bad lighting and the deliveryman’s constant shifting to avoid the rotating camera, LAPD’s best guess was Caucasian male with baseball cap and dark goatee. “If it helps, the receptionist said he had dreamy eyes.”
When the chuckling died down, a CSI raised her hand. “How was Sage killed?”
“Ice pick into the brain,” Branch said, tapping the soft part in back where neck met skull. “If not a pick, a similarly styled blade.”
The CSI nodded.
“Baton Rouge, Miami, Seattle, Dallas, Kansas City, Honolulu, Naperville, Holbrook, and Los Angeles,” Cross said, listing the nine in chronological order. “Starting twenty months ago. Each one had burnt matches and broken noses. Each was committed with a blade.”
“Giving us a unique signature,” Marty said.
“Ray’s nose was intact,” the sheriff objected. “He was shot, not cut, and there weren’t any matches. Burned or otherwise.”
“He pulled over the killer by coincidence,” Cross said. “Killer shot him to escape, not because Ray was a target. Thus, no signature material.”
The sheriff mulled that, nodded. “One serial’s bad enough for a community,” he said, rubbing his pulled-pork face. “But two? Gotta wonder what you did to irritate God so much.”
What indeed? Emily thought as everyone glanced at her.
“What else do we know about the victims?” Cross said.