XO (39 page)

“Well, couldn’t people still take it like a supplement?”

Rhyme frowned. “Don’t think they’d want to. I forgot to mention: it’s human.”

THE BONE MATERIAL
was quite minimal and to confirm the source would require a confocal laser scanning microscope, Rhyme explained, looking around the room as if one of these magical devices were nearby in the lab.

Charlie Shean said that while he was aware of the machine and had wanted to acquire one, the FMCSO could not, in fact, afford it.

“Well, I’m ninety-nine percent sure. The morphology of the particles and the geometry of the dust almost guarantee it’s human. I’d be very surprised if it wasn’t.”

What they could do with that information, though, Rhyme wasn’t positive. “Can’t quite see how it fits into the big picture,” he admitted. “Anybody among the cast of characters here have a job that might involve bone? Surgeon, dentist?”

“No.”

“Undertaker?” Harutyun suggested.

“They don’t do much bone work. I could see medical examiners, pathologists. Wait, Fresno College—where he made the call—does it have a medical school?”

“Yes,” Harutyun reported.

“Ah, that could be it. Human skeletons in the classrooms and then procedures too, involving bone saws. Until we get more information, I think we’ll go on the assumption that he picked up the bone dust at the school and then continued his surveillance at Edwin’s.”

O’Neil said, “At least we know that the person who was behind Edwin’s house was the perp.”

“So, that means it isn’t him,” Harutyun said.

“Unless,” Dance pointed out, “Edwin himself was the source of the
bone dust and he left the trace when he walked back to see who’d been spying on him.”

“Exactly, Kathryn,” Rhyme said.

Harutyun muttered, “That’s the way this case’s been going all along—he’s guilty, he’s innocent, guilty, innocent.”

Rhyme wheeled back to the microscope. “Hm, still a few things I want to look at. Ammonium oxalate … Scotch?”

Crystal Stanning broke her vow of silence. “You … you found some traces of liquor?”

“No, no, I
want
some scotch.”

“Oh, well, we don’t actually have any in the sheriff’s office.”

“Really?” Rhyme sounded surprised.

“Lincoln,” Thom said.

“I was simply asking.” He returned to the microscope.

Dance and O’Neil looked over the chart, on which Sachs had highlighted Rhyme’s deductions.

• Sunday. Robert Prescott homicide, convention center stage/orchestra pit/scaffolding

—strip lamp

—no matching friction ridge prints

—no matching tool marks (unit removed by wing nuts)

—fifty-foot power cord

—no matching fingerprints

—smoke detectors in pit, disabled

—no matching fingerprints

—smudges determined to be produced by latex gloves, brand unknown, not associated with gloves in Edwin Sharp’s possession

—cardboard cartons moved from projected path of victim

—no matching fingerprints

—smudges determined to be produced by latex gloves, brand unknown, not associated with gloves in Edwin Sharp’s possession

—unique trace from stage/orchestra pit/scaffolding

—triglyceride fat (lard)

—2700K color temperature (yellowish)

—melting point: 40–55 degrees F

—specific gravity: 0.91 at 40.0 C

—
Determined likely to be neatsfoot oil, treatment for leather sports equipment, tack and gun slings

—no footprints/vehicle tread marks

• Monday. Frederick Blanton homicide, gas station, near San Joaquin River

—two 9 mm shell casings

—weapon possibly Det. Gabriel Fuentes’s, no casings for comparison

—
Determined likely to be his weapon

—no friction ridge prints

—extractor marks match those found at Sheri Towne scene

—one 9 mm slug recovered

—lands and grooves match slugs from Sheri Towne scene

—accelerant

—Shell gasoline, 89 octane

—gasoline container destroyed

—no footprints/vehicle tread marks

• Monday. Frederick Blanton’s residence, Fresno

—no relevant friction ridge prints, footprints, vehicle tread marks

• Monday. Public phone in classroom building at Fresno College

—No relevant friction ridge prints

—unique trace collected

—calcium powder

—
Determined likely to be human bone dust

—chemicals: limonite, goethite and calcite.

—
Determined likely to be gangue, ore collection and processing byproduct

—no footprints/vehicle tread marks

• Tuesday. Sheri Towne crime scene

—cigarette ash

—
Determined likely to be Marlboro

—twenty-three 9 mm shell casings

—weapon possibly Gabriel Fuentes’s, no casings for comparison

—
Determined likely to be his weapon

—no friction ridge prints

—extractor marks match those at gas station scene

—seven 9 mm slugs recovered

—lands and grooves match those at Frederick Blanton scene

—no friction ridge prints

—no footprints/vehicle tread marks

• Tuesday. Emerson High School stadium, PA system facility

—no friction ridge prints

—no footprints/vehicle tread marks

—unique trace recovered

—calcium powder

—
Determined likely to be human bone dust

• Tuesday. Park across from Mountain View Motel

—Marlboro cigarette. DNA analysis requested

—fishing line trip wire, generic brand

—no friction ridge prints

—no footprints/vehicle tread marks

• Wednesday. Edwin Sharp’s house

—outside:

—boot print probably cowboy-style, unable to determine size, male or female

—no vehicle tread marks

—unique trace materials

—triglyceride fat (lard)

—2700K color temperature (yellowish)

—melting point: 40–55 degrees F

—specific gravity: 0.91 at 40.0 C

—
Determined likely to be neatsfoot oil, treatment for leather sports equipment, tack and gun slings

—fungus

—
Determined likely to be used in place of chemical-based fertilizers

—chemicals: limonite, goethite and calcite

—
Determined likely to be gangue, ore collection and processing by
-
product

—mineral oil, with lime sulfur

—
Determined likely to be organic pesticide

—calcium powder

—
Determined likely to be human bone dust

—ammonium oxalate

—inside:

—latex gloves, not associated with those at Prescott homicide

—household cleaning materials (to eliminate trace?)

—no cigarettes, matches or lighters, odor of cigarettes

It was then that Dance’s mobile buzzed. She regarded the text with a frown. “I’ll be right back,” she told the others.

She walked outside and into the parking lot of the sheriff’s office. She nearly laughed to see P. K. Madigan undercover—he was now in khakis, a plaid shirt and tan vest, the fishing cap and mirrored aviator sunglasses.

Dance smiled. “Hi, I—”

But Madigan interrupted and said urgently, “We’ve got a situation. I mean,
you
’ve got a situation.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve spent the last sixteen or so hours online, looking up everything I could find about Edwin, Kayleigh, fans … everything.”

This was the assignment Dance had given P. K. Madigan, the job she’d described as “unpleasant,” since it involved sitting at a desk, not the greatest job in the world for an active law enforcer like the chief detective, who seemed to enjoy fieldwork, unlike a lot of his counterparts. But Dance believed it was important to continue to monitor Edwin’s online
activity, and to find any new posts and sites he visited. With their limited manpower, she’d enlisted Madigan.

“Where’s Edwin now? He under surveillance?”

“He was. I’ll check,” Dance replied and placed a call. She posed the question to Dennis Harutyun, who was probably a bit mystified by Dance’s disappearance. But he didn’t query her; he just said, “Hold on.” A moment later he came back on the line. She heard frustration in his voice. “This is odd. Edwin went to the mall—Fashion Fair on Shaw. Parked in the lot near East Santa Ana. The deputy thought Edwin’d lose him in the stores so he stayed with the car. That was two hours ago. He hasn’t been back.”

“He knew he was being tailed and he jumped.”

“Probably.”

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

After she disconnected she told this information to Madigan, who grimaced hard. “Hell.” Then he asked, “You had any evidence suggesting he’d become violent?”

“No.” Dance explained that she’d interviewed him, then added, “But people like that keep a tight lid on their emotions. Something can push them over the edge real fast.”

“Well,” Madigan said urgently, “I’m pretty worried about something. A half hour ago there were some postings on some of Kayleigh’s fan sites. Anonymous, but they were sites where Edwin has posted in the past. The posts were the same, saying something to the effect of, ‘Watch the news, Kayleigh. Maybe you’ll finally understand how much I love you.’”

“John Hinckley.”

“Yep. I remember what you told us in the first briefing.”

That occasionally a stalker had a total break with reality and when he gave up hope that he’d be with his love, he’d kill someone to cement himself in her thoughts forever.

“Here’s the URLs of those sites.” Madigan handed her a sheet of yellow-lined paper. “Have Computer Crimes track ’em down and see where they were made from.”

“Thanks, Chief.”

“No,” he said, offering a wan smile, “thank
you,
Deputy.”

She returned to the office and handed Dennis Harutyun the sheet of paper. “What’s this?” he asked.

Dance explained, without mentioning Madigan’s name, about the
threatening posts. “We need to trace them. Edwin’s name doesn’t appear but these’re blogs and sites he posts to regularly.”

“Where’d you get the sites?” Amelia Sachs asked.

“Just some outside research.”

But Harutyun looked at the handwriting and frowned, perhaps recognizing it and deducing the source was his ousted boss. Still, he said nothing and called the office’s computer crimes operation and ordered them to locate the posts and try to trace them.

Crystal Stanning went online and reviewed the posts. O’Neil said, “It may not be him. Kayleigh has to have other obsessive fans. We can’t forget that.”

But a moment later Harutyun’s phone hummed. He looked down. “It’s Computer Crimes.” He took the call and listened for a moment. “Okay. Thanks.” He disconnected and slipped the phone away. “The posting was from Java Hut.”

Harutyun said, “At Fashion Fair. That’s where Edwin is right now.”

“Maybe he’s still there,” Amelia Sachs said and Harutyun called Dispatch to order deputies to the shopping center to find Edwin. He reminded them that he could be armed.

Stanning asked, “He’s thinking of a mass shooting at the mall?”

Sachs said, “That could be it but the typical stalker killing profile is more one-on-one. An assassination.”

“True,” Dance said. “And it’s usually somebody famous. So that he’ll get the attention of his object.”

“But who’s the planned victim?” Harutyun wondered aloud.

O’Neil continued to read the posts. “They don’t mention anybody in particular.”

Dance joined him, arm against arm, and they stared at the posts.

“There, that one,” Dance muttered, pointing. She read it aloud. “‘I’ve seen all your postings, about Kayleigh. You claim you like her, you claim you love her music. But you use her like everybody does, you stole Leaving Home to keep the hispanics happy. Your a fucking hypocrit.’”