Alex Kava Bundle - Alex Kava [631]
A thick middle-aged man came in the door, did a double take when he saw O’Dell and backed up to check the sign on the door.
“You can come on in. We’re just visiting,” Pakula told him, but the man waved an angry hand at him and left, muttering something about privacy.
“One door to enter and exit,” O’Dell said, looking around. “And no one saw the killer on a busy Friday afternoon?”
“These restrooms are sort of off the beaten path. Most people would use the ones at the gate or down next to the luggage carousel. There was one guy—he’s listed in the report—thought he bumped into a kid on his way out. Said the kid was in a hurry. The guy couldn’t identify him other than a baseball cap, slight build. Didn’t even see his face. By the time the guy saw the monsignor’s body, realized what happened and ran out the door, he said the kid was nowhere in sight.”
O’Dell moved to the doorway and stood, looking out. “There’s nowhere to go except down the hallway to the terminal, right?”
“Not that I know of. Other than the women’s restroom next door, there’s a locked supply closet. We checked it that night to make sure he didn’t have access to the closet to dump a weapon, his clothes, anything else.”
“What about cameras?”
“No cameras except at the security checkpoints.”
“I saw one in the bookstore,” she told him. “It looks like it’s set up to cover the entrance. It may be a stretch, but I wonder if it catches anything beyond the entrance? If it does, it might show people turning to come down this hallway to use the restrooms.”
“Usually store cameras are pretty crappy, but I’ll check it out.”
“Speaking of cameras, what have you released to the media?” O’Dell asked.
“Released to the media?”
“Has anyone openly made the possible connection between the three murders? There are three that we know of, correct?”
Pakula nodded. “Yeah, three. The monsignor, an ex-priest in Minneapolis and one in Columbia, Missouri. The Minneapolis one happened over the Memorial Day weekend. The Columbia murder was about twenty-four hours after Monsignor O’Sullivan. There are similarities, but I don’t think anyone can say for certain that they’re all connected.” Pakula didn’t like where this was going. Ramsey had brought in the FBI to squelch any political rhetoric and media sensationalism. What exactly did O’Dell expect them to release?
“Whether there’s a connection or not is what you want me to figure out, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Three priests dead in a coupla months, all in the Midwest, you gotta wonder if there’s a serial killer on the loose.”
“Is there a reason why you haven’t talked about this in public?” O’Dell asked.
“You mean like a warning?”
“Yes, partly a warning.”
Pakula wondered what Ramsey had shared with his old buddy Cunningham. Evidently it hadn’t been enough to convey how sensitive the power structure in a city the size of Omaha could be. Ramsey may have beat around the bush with Cunningham. Pakula wasn’t about to beat around any bushes.
“How’s the media breathing down my neck and screwing around with my words going to solve any of these cases?” he asked, and he let her hear his contempt.
“Ah, but you see, Detective Pakula, what you do is screw with them before they screw with you. If we take a proactive role, we might just be able to get them to do our dirty work.”
She was ready to leave now, but stepped back to let two men in golf shirts come into the restroom. They stopped in midstride