Born to Die - Lisa Jackson [153]
Alvarez had listened to Kacey’s theory about the dead women being related to Gerald Johnson twice so far, once at Kacey’s house, and a second time now. When her partner, Pescoli, arrived, Alvarez quickly brought her up to speed.
“Gerald Johnson,” Pescoli repeated, shaking her head. “Think this is his work, too?” She offered up pictures that looked as if they had been taken digitally, then printed out. Kacey inwardly cringed as she looked at the graphic images, not so much from the woman’s injuries—she’d seen worse in medical school and her practice—but because of what she saw beyond the battered, bloody features. The victim’s hair, poking out of a blood-encrusted cap, was a deep red-brown, as close to Kacey’s own color as it could be, and the one eye that was open, pupil apparently fixed, was a green shade that wasn’t quite as blue as her own but was definitely in the color spectrum of all the victims.
Had her face not been so battered, this woman, too, would have resembled Kacey enough as to have been her sister.
Which, she thought sadly, was probably true.
“You know her?” Alvarez asked.
Kacey shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her in my life.”
“I was talking to him.” Alvarez hitched her chin toward Trace, her dark eyes holding his.
His jaw was clamped shut, and irritation caused a muscle to work in his jaw. “No.” He slid the pictures back toward Pescoli, who was still standing near the table.
Kacey asked, “Who is she?”
Pescoli thought for a moment and said, “I guess we can tell you, considering the situation, but keep it to yourselves. Next of kin is being notified as we speak. Her name is Karalee Rierson. She’s local. A nurse. Divorced. A couple of times. No kids. Lived in Oregon for a while.” She paused a moment, as if thinking things over, then said, “She grew up in Helena.”
“Dear God,” Kacey whispered, sick inside. Who was behind all these accidents? Why was he killing?
“Dr. Lambert went to see Gerald Johnson today,” Alvarez said, then nodded to Kacey, who explained again about getting her mother to come up with the truth, then forcing herself on Gerald Johnson and his family.
“Did you go to see Johnson and his clan to try and flush out the killer?” Pescoli asked, her expression stern. She stood leaning against the far wall, below a camera mounted near the ceiling.
“I actually went to meet them, show them the pictures, tell them what I knew. I wanted to see their expressions, especially Gerald’s, as he seems to be the link to all of this.” She felt cold inside again, just remembering his reaction and those of her half siblings. Though she didn’t really know them, she realized she would never be close to any of them, might, in fact, never see them again. Her curiosity was satisfied, though; as far as she was concerned, they weren’t part of her family. “Gerald was concerned when I showed him the pictures of the dead women, and even though I don’t think he wanted to, he owned up to the whole sperm donor thing, which bothered most of his kids.”
“I’d say,” Pescoli muttered.
“From now on, stay away from them,” Alvarez advised.
Trace asked, “You think they’re dangerous?”
“I think it’s police business.” Pescoli was firm. “Not that we don’t appreciate the fact that you found out who our sperm donor is. We only had a number.”
They discussed the meeting with the Johnson clan, and then Kacey told the detectives about Gloria Sanders-O’Malley, the instructor at Fit Forever. “She looks like the rest of us, and she was born in Helena.”
“I’ve seen her at the gym,” Alvarez said, her expression growing tense. “She does resemble the others.”
“For the love of God, how many victims and potential victims are we talking about?” Pescoli broke in. “This is nuts!” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“Once I figured out there were more people like me, those with Gerald Johnson as a father, I went to meet him, see what he was like. I wasn