Body Count (22 page)

I wake up with a start when the phone rings.

“Hello,” I say, groggy and shaken by another nightmare I can't remember.

“It's me. Josh. We've got something on Daly.”

“Yes?”

“He studied in Michigan.”

I sit up and swing my feet off the bed and onto the floor. “That's fantastic news. From 1997 to 2000?”

“The dates are a year off. He was there from 1998 to 2001. It's still possible though.”

“So we've got him in Arizona and Michigan. That's two.”

“Three. We've got a current address on him and it's here in D.C. We're going to bring him in for questioning.”

“What if Sam's hidden on the premises? Have you got a search warrant?”

A pause. “No.”

“Shit!”

“We need more for a warrant.”

“But what about Sam?”

“If Daly knows anything, I'll get it out of him.” There's a steeliness in Marco's voice that surprises me. But I can't imagine he'll break any rules with Daly, even for Sam.

I sigh. “Okay.”

“I'll call you just before I go in. I can keep the line open so you can hear what's going on.”

“Thanks, Josh. I couldn't bear to sit here and not know.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. I'll call you back.”

I wait impatiently, unsure what to do with myself. I get up and pace the room, glaring at my watch every few seconds. Hang on, Sam.

I decide to try to see what's happening to Sam, like I did earlier today. I sit on the edge of my bed and push the thoughts away. I take deep breaths and with each breath try to relax. But it's no use; I'm too wound up to clear my mind. I keep thinking about George Daly, and about Sam lying on a gurney somewhere.

Finally, after twenty minutes of pacing, looking at crime-scene photos and drinking water, my phone rings.

“Josh?”

“Hi. I'm at the door. I'll leave my cell phone in my pocket.”

“Okay.”

I hear Josh knocking on a door. He knocks again. At this time of the night/morning, Daly's bound to be asleep. I hear a muffled man's voice but I can't make out what's being said.

“It's Special Agent Marco, FBI, and Detective Flynn from the D.C. police.”

The door opens.

“Yes?”

“Are you George Daly?”

“Yes.” The voice is uncertain.

“We'd like to talk to you about some murders. Can we come in?” Flynn speaks for the first time.

“Sure…sure.” The voice is still uncertain, now perhaps intermingled with curiosity. God, I hate this. I hate not being there. I stop pacing and crouch down, almost in a fetal position.

Daly's voice again. “Is everything all right? Who's been murdered?”

Now I can hear fear. But is it fear that someone he knows has been killed or fear that he's been found out?

“You here alone, Mr. Daly?”

“Yes.”

“We'd like to talk to you about the D.C. Slasher case. You grew up in Arizona?”

“Yes, that's right.”

“Did you know Sally-Anne Raymond?”

“No, but I remember her murder. What's all this got to do with me?”

“And you studied in Michigan?” Josh asks, not answering Daly's question.

“Yes.” Very hesitant now.

“Did you know Candice Lane, Georgina Craig, Beth Walters, Jenny Brightman, Susannah Armstrong or Kelly Lee?” Marco reels off the Michigan victims.

“No. Look, where the hell's this going?”

“We'd like to question you in relation to these murders, and others.”

“What!” His voice is loud. “Murder? But…but…I didn't know those girls.”

“We just want to ask you a few questions. We believe you may be able to help us with our investigation.”

“Um…um…don't I need a lawyer or something?”

“They're just routine questions, but by all means call a lawyer if you like. If you think you need one.” Marco's pushing Daly into a corner. If he calls a lawyer, it may indicate guilt and something to hide.

Silence.

“Let's go, Mr. Daly.”

“I'll just…” He pauses again. “I'll just get dressed.”

“Sure. Mind if we look around a bit while we're waiting?” Josh's voice is now friendly, open.

A pause. “I guess not. I don't have anything to hide.”

He's either innocent or very confident that Josh and Flynn won't find anything. He's letting them look around without a search warrant.

A crackle comes through the phone. “Sophie?”

“Yeah, I'm here. What do you think?”

“Hate to say it, but he's not acting particularly suspiciously. Surprised more than anything else.”

“Mmm.”

“I'll look around, just in case. Flynn is keeping an eye on Daly.”

I listen to Josh move through the house. After several minutes he speaks. “The house is clear. No sign of Sam.”

“You checked the basement?”

“It's clear. We knew there was a chance he took his girls somewhere other than his house,” Josh says quietly. “It might still be Daly.”

“I know. I know.” I sink on the bed and rest my head in my free hand. “If she's got some of those deeper wounds like the other victims—”

“We're going to question him now. We will find out.”

“Sam may bleed out if we don't find her.”

“I know. Look, Soph, we haven't confirmed him for all states yet. We have to face the fact that he might not be our guy.”

“Yeah, or he might be the murdering SOB who's got Sam.”

No response from Josh.

“I'll fly back in the morning. Help you guys question him.”

“We may need you to place him at the other Arizona crime scenes.”

I clench my fists, frustrated, powerless. I puff air forcefully out of my mouth. “I'll give you a call in a few hours and see how the questioning's going.”

“Okay. Let's see how it plays out. And don't worry, I'll call you as soon as we get anything from him.”

I hang up, wired. We got him. We got him. We just have to find out where he's keeping Sam. I have to believe that. I walk across to the bar fridge and take out a chocolate bar. I stare out the window, chewing. Oh God, they have to find Sam.

I decide to go over the Daly interviews from Sally-Anne's case. Maybe there's something there. Some slip I didn't see the first time. I grab the reports and lie down on the bed to read. However, it's only a few minutes before I'm fighting back sleep. But I don't want to sleep, I want to find evidence against Daly.

Finally I submit…I need to get at least a couple of hours' sleep if I want to function tomorrow. My alarm is set for 5:30 a.m. That's only three hours away. I let myself drift off and I dream, again.

The phone's ringing and I'm covered in sweat. Small parts of my dream come back to me, but it's all in pieces, like a jigsaw puzzle. I remember blood, something about a mirror, and running.

“Hello?” I say, looking at the clock. It's 5:25 a.m.

“Sophie,” says a strange, tight voice.

“Yes?” I say, shaking.

There's a pause.

“We've found Sam.” Another pause. “She's dead.” The voice is Josh's.

“What?” I whisper. “What?” I scream. “But you've got Daly. You've got the killer. This can't be. She's not dead.”

“Sophie, it wasn't Daly. He's got alibis.”

“It's got to be him.”

“Sam's body was dumped when we were questioning Daly. It's not him.”

“No! No.”

I can't help myself from picturing Sam's naked, dead body. She was never meant to die like that. Not Sam.

“I'm sorry, Sophie. I'm so sorry.” His voice is croaky. Tired and upset.

“Don't, Josh. Please don't.”

“Come back, Sophie. Get the first flight out.”

I hang up and finally release my emotions. The tears aren't silent anymore.

A
manda leans forward in her chair. “Sophie, I'm so sorry.”

“Yeah.” My arms hang limply and rest on my legs. This can't really be happening.

She rests her hands on her knees, leaning farther forward. “I think we all thought we'd get him before he killed her.”

“I should have done more.”

“What could you have done?”

“I don't know. I've missed something.”

“What did you find out in Arizona?”

I tell her about Sally-Anne, about the pendant and about the marks on all the girls, including the knife wounds that have been cut to partially form the Triquetra.

“So you've definitely linked them. That's a big step, Sophie.”

“Doesn't matter to Sam.” I lean on one armrest.

“No, but it's helped the case. The next victim.”

“But not Sam.”

“No, not Sam. But you can't help everyone, Sophie. You can't always win.”

“I should have. I should have helped Sam.”

“You did.”

“How?” I say.

“You've got evidence that means when we find this guy, you'll be able to put him away.”

“How has that helped Sam?” I hold her gaze, knowing how cold my pale blue eyes can be.

“At least you'll find and convict her killer. That's what Sam would have wanted.”

Amanda's right, but it doesn't console me. “I want to go to the scene.”

Josh picked me up from the airport and told me Rivers's orders—straight to see Amanda. I haven't even seen Sam yet.

“There might be something at the scene. Some clue. This is different from the other murders. He took her back to her apartment. She was found inside. I know that apartment. I know Sam.”

She pauses. “There are things at the crime scene, Sophie. Things that are meant to taunt you.”

“Like his letter to Sam?”

“Yes. But this time it's you.” She monitors my reaction.

“Another letter?”

“Not exactly.”

“It doesn't matter anyway.” I keep my voice controlled. Even. “I'm going to kill him.”

“You've got every right to be angry, but—”

“I don't need your permission!” I scream, letting my anger overflow.

“Sophie, I'm here to help you.” She pauses, waiting for my response.

I sigh. “I'm sorry.” I clasp my hands together. “If you want to help me, let me go to the crime scene.”

She pauses. “Okay. But I'd like to go with you. To help you deal with it.”

“Let's go.” I stand up, eager to get there.

“Hold on.” She picks up her phone and I know she's talking to Rivers. “She may be able to shed some light…she saw the necklace…”

Rivers mustn't want me there.

“I'll make sure she's all right.” Amanda hangs up. “Okay. The others are all there. We'll join them,” she says.

We arrive at Sam's apartment. On the street there are about five uniformed cops and a gathering of onlookers. I walk up the pathway and cameras snap my picture. The press take photos of everyone and work out who's important later. In the corridor on Sam's floor are more cops and several FBI agents. It feels familiar. Did I dream this? I walk to her apartment door and move inside. Everything seems to be in slow motion. Josh walks toward me. He holds me again, but this time it's a quicker hug, not like the long one we shared at the airport. But I'm not really here. I'm watching my body from somewhere else. Somewhere safe.

Sandra Couples approaches me. “I'm so sorry, Sophie. I'm so sorry.” She takes my hand and looks into my eyes. “My guys left the place for fifteen minutes to check out a house alarm down the street.” It's a confession.

“It's all right, Sandra. He would have taken her somewhere else if he couldn't get in here. Or he would have killed your people.”

Sandra opens her mouth but no words come out. Rivers comes from Sam's bedroom. He looks pale and his skin doesn't have its usual smoothness.

“Sophie. You okay?”

I nod.

Rivers awkwardly puts his arm around me. “I'm still not sure it's such a good idea you being here.”

“I had to come. He might have left something again.”

He says nothing—he knows I'm right.

I'm drawn down the hallway to Sam's bedroom. I pass several forensics experts, all collecting evidence.

“Is she still here?” I ask.

“No. The coroner's taken her back to start the autopsy.”

I flinch.

I walk toward Sam's bedroom, preparing myself for the scene. Amanda, Josh and Rivers accompany me, but Couples hangs back. I see the rest of the task force in the bedroom and we all nod at each other, uncomfortable. We all failed Sam.

More forensics people circle the crime scene, including Marty. Everyone walks around in a stupor. It's not like a normal crime scene. It's
not
a normal crime scene. This time we all knew the victim. Most people in this room would have worked with Sam at one time or another.

I can see from the markings on Sam's bed exactly how she was positioned. I shudder, thinking of what her final few days must have been like.

Next I look at the mirror.
I'm coming Sophie.

I stare at the handwritten message. I don't feel fear, I feel anger. He's not going to get to me. I won't give him that power.

“Have we got anything?” I say, straight down to business.

“Coroner puts the time of death between two and five this morning. The body was moved postmortem. Lividity is a little different this time. We think she may have been in a van for longer than the others.

“He must have been waiting to see if the cops left the apartment block.”

“She was dumped between five and five-fifteen this morning,” O'Donnell says. He flips his notebook shut. “We hope to know more after the autopsy.”

“DNA? Prints? The writing?” I ask, motioning toward the mirror.

“Marty's team is just finishing up,” Josh says. I follow Josh's gaze and turn around.

“Hi, Marty.”

He gives me a small smile. I can see the concern in his eyes.

“Well?” I say.

“We've taken photos and samples back to the lab, we'll have to wait for the tests. But so far it looks like the writing is in nail polish. The color seems to match one of Sam's,” he says, holding up an evidence bag with a Revlon nail polish in it. I recognize it—a dark plum.

“Any prints?”

“We've lifted a few, but we won't know whose for a few hours.”

“Fibers?”

“I'm sorry, Sophie. Nothing yet.”

“Oh God.”

He hesitates, about to say something, but then changes his mind.

“Do whatever you can, won't you?” I say, holding on to his arm.

“We'll do our best.”

Marty leaves and Josh is by my side. “If there's anything here, he'll find it,” he says.

I nod.

O'Donnell comes to the center of the room. “Okay, let's have another half an hour, then the task force should go back to the D.C. Field Office and keep working on our other leads.”

We all agree and wander around—some aimlessly and others purposefully.

“Anderson, I need to talk to you.” Rivers takes me aside and Amanda follows. We move into the corridor outside Sam's apartment, to a quiet section.

“You up to this, Anderson?”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks at Amanda, then back at me. Please no, don't let him do it.

“You're off the case. You know that, don't you?” Rivers says.

“No, you can't. I have to stay on this case. I have to,” I say, grabbing his elbow tightly with one hand and showing my desperation. I quickly let go.

“There's no discussion.” He takes his glasses off. “I should have realized Wright was a target. And I'm sure as hell not going to make that mistake again.”

“I'll be fine.”

“You got to be kidding me, Anderson. Look at that damn mirror!” he says, gesturing into Sam's apartment.

I've got to be the bait. “You're right. I'm a target. So use me. I can be the bait.”

Rivers looks at me and leans against the wall. He takes a deep breath and shakes his head.

I move closer to him. “We can catch him this way. He'll come after me and we'll get him.”

Rivers looks at Amanda. “Do you think she's up to it?”

I resent being spoken about as though I'm not even here, but now's not the time to dwell on that. “This is the only way to stop him,” I add. I have to convince him. I must find the killer. I owe it to Sam.

Amanda stares at me for a moment before replying. “If you decide to go ahead, I'll want a one-hour appointment every day. And she needs to feel safe.”

“I'd put two agents on her around the clock,” Rivers says, but I can see he still hasn't made a final decision.

I push him. “So I can stay on the case?”

“I never said that.”

“Oh, come on, sir. You know he's more likely to keep targeting me if I'm working his case.” I pause. “Besides, with agents on me, what does it matter what I do? I'll be protected.”

Rivers studies my face. After about ten incredibly long seconds, he pushes off the wall and takes one step toward me. “You're on. Don't leave this apartment until your protection arrives. Got it?” He jabs his finger at me.

“Yes, sir.”

And with that he's gone, flipping his cell phone open and dialing as he walks back into Sam's.

“Sophie, I've got to get back. You need to come and see me later today and we'll finish our session. Three o'clock, my office.” Amanda doesn't give me a chance to respond.

Just over fifty minutes later we're back at the D.C. Field Office. My protective agents are parked out front, and the task force is in the project room. The whiteboard's still got the map of D.C. pinned to it, and now Sam's apartment is also marked.

“Anderson, I updated the team members on your discoveries in Arizona yesterday. Anything else to tell us?”

“Did you fill them in about the knife wounds?” I ask Josh.

“Shit. No. With everything that's happened in the past eight hours I totally forgot.”

“What'd you find?” O'Donnell asks.

“Late last night I was looking at the photos from the murders.” I stand up and take the photos over to the whiteboard. Getting back into the case is a welcome distraction. I draw an enlarged diagram of the Triquetra. “If you look at the knife wounds on the victims' thighs, they're all part of this diagram.” I take them through each victim and what part of the symbol the killer engraved into her thigh.

“Sam's leg was cut pretty bad too,” Couples says.

“Yeah, I noticed that. I'm trying to picture it,” Josh says. He pauses. “It must be part of the bottom, right-hand section. That's all that's left.”

I shake my head. “That's already covered. It must be the very bottom section.”

Josh nods. “The symbol's almost complete.”

“So, he's making the symbol, bit by bit this time. Why?” Flynn says.

Josh gives his pen a double click. “Who knows? Maybe he knew it was only a matter of time before VICAP linked all his murders and he didn't want to make it too obvious for us. Something obvious like that on all the victims would have meant an earlier VICAP match.”

“How are you guys going with your lists?” I ask, sitting back down.

O'Donnell answers. “We've got full enrollment names from the twenty-two colleges with science or medical programs. Our list was finalized last night and the computer geeks have been doing their work, running the list against payroll records and locations where each student took their SATs. The computer's spitting out names alphabetically, and we're getting them from the boys in groups of ten.” He squeezes the bridge of his nose. He looks tired. We all do. “We've also got a list of all the FBI and CIA applicants from Arizona, Michigan, Chicago and D.C. We're crossing that against studying in Michigan, plus the SATs and the payroll stuff. Again, I've told the guys to give the names to us in groups of ten so we can get started ASAP. And we're doing a search for any cops who've transferred across from Michigan to Chicago and then to D.C.”

“How many names have we got so far?” I ask.

“Two hundred.”

I can't hide my disappointment. “Shit! How far have we got to go?”

“We're two-thirds the way through both lists. It'll only be a couple of hours before we get the final lists,” he says, pausing and scribbling down the alphabet. “When it comes through, I'll take surnames A to C, Couples, you
take D through F, Anderson, you take G to I, Flynn, J to L, Jones, M to P, Marco, Q to T, and Krip, you get the easy one, U to X.”

“Any update on the lock-picking angle?” I ask, looking at Jones.

“On the master-key front, none of the locksmiths have a common employee, so it would be pretty impossible for our perp to have entered using a master key.” He stares down at his notepad. “I also managed to get as many names as I could from Arizona lock manufacturers. Some have kept the records and some haven't. We're cross-checking the names against our college, FBI, CIA and law-enforcement lists to date, but nothing's matched so far.”

“What about Michigan?”

“I've made a few calls to the manufacturers, but haven't got through to them all yet.”

Krip leans forward. “As far as we know, Sam's the only person he's ever nabbed from inside an apartment, and maybe Jean. The rest were in parking lots, maybe at the front door, but no struggles inside.”

I can sense that no one feels this is a strong lead except me.

“I don't know about the trash can lead, Sophie. We don't have any proof he's getting into their apartments,” Flynn says.

I stand up and lean on the table. “Guys, he gets in. I'm telling you. And I don't see Sam leaving that window open.”