All the Pretty Girls - J. T. Ellison [33]
“Oh, they didn’t tell you? Rape kit came away with DNA.”
“You’ve never gotten DNA before, have you? That’s great news.”
Betsy shook her head gingerly, grimacing at the pain. “We have gotten DNA in the other rapes. He uses a condom, but he’s sloppy—when he takes it off, he always leaves a drop or two behind. We’ve been keeping that tidbit quiet because we can’t get the damn Tennessee Bureau of Investigation to run any of the newer samples through CODIS in a timely manner. At least not anytime soon.”
The TBI’s CODIS database was backlogged for a year or more at a time. The Combined DNA Index database was so popular that their lab was overwhelmed with the number of samples to get into the system. Maybe this would bump the cases up the ladder.
Betsy continued. “They ran it a couple of years ago, after the 2002 rapes. There wasn’t a match, but the database was in its infancy around here then. The samples from 2004 are up there, they just haven’t been processed. If he’s in the system, we’ll find him. It’s just a matter of doing it before we all die of old age.”
Taylor shook her head. “We’ve got to get our own lab. Maybe because it’s you, they’ll give it a push.”
“Jesus, God no, we can’t let them know. Taylor, please, you have to find another way.”
“I know. I’m going to do everything that I can to keep you insulated from this.” She rolled her neck to stretch the kinks out. She was tired all of a sudden. That was never a good sign. As much as her mind knew she was a hundred percent, her body liked to think otherwise.
Betsy continued her analysis. “The Rainman takes the condom with him, right? But we do have the spermicide. The lab has the chemical signature and we have a brand. Matched it to each rape.” Betsy gave her a little smile that said, “See, we haven’t fallen down on the job completely in Sex Crimes.”
Taylor noticed Betsy’s eyes starting to droop, and decided to ask what was on her mind. “You think he knows who you are?”
“Oh, yeah. We gave a press conference a couple of weeks ago, after the last rape. So he knows I’m on the case. What he doesn’t know is we’re getting close.”
“Or maybe he does, and he wanted you to back off. Why do you think you’re getting close?”
The spark came back to her eyes. Betsy leaned back into the pillows, looking smug. “The last victim thinks she recognizes him.”
Fourteen
When Baldwin and Grimes arrived in the community-hospital parking lot, Baldwin could see a passel of men standing in the northeast corner. Waves of heat shimmered off the black asphalt. Grimes pulled up a few slots away and got out, went immediately to a large dark-skinned man with commanding shoulders and a shaved head. He held himself ramrod straight, and Baldwin pegged him as military from twenty feet away. He followed in Grimes’s path and stuck out his hand for the requisite introductions and posturing. To his surprise, the sheriff flashed him a big smile. He was younger than he initially looked, and Baldwin breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes the locals just weren’t thrilled to have the FBI involved in their cases, and sometimes they were.
“Sheriff Terrence Pascoe,” the man rumbled. “You must be John Baldwin. I read your white paper on anger-excitation killers in the Law Enforcement Bulletin last year. Great stuff. It’s good to have you. Sorry about the heat.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. Not much better in Nashville this time of year. Agent Grimes told me you wanted to tow the car. I appreciate you holding off for me.”
“Not a problem. The locks are popped.” He handed a manila folder to Baldwin. “Here’re the crime scene photos. Nothing much different, ’cept we pulled the keys out from under the car to process. We’ve been holding her cell phone in case any calls come into it.” He held up a bag with the phone. “Already dusted it, so I’ve just kept it on my person until I turn it in to Evidence. We didn’t get anything off it but her prints. Same for the car. No prints other than her and the fiancé, which isn’t surprising. We’ve talked to him and let him go back home. He’s praying