Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [104]
“So even when the guy plays nice, he’s still a total bastard.” Rainie straightened. “Well, do you want the good news or the bad news first?”
Mac was silent for a moment. She could see fresh lines on his forehead, a gaunt set to his jaw. He’d been pushing himself hard and he looked it. Still, he didn’t blink an eye. “If it’s all the same, I think I’d like to start with the good news tonight.”
“We might have a name.” Rainie dug out her spiral notepad from her fanny pack and started flipping through. She glanced once more at the body. “Brunette, twenty years old, brown eyes, distinguishable by a birthmark on her upper left breast.” She bent down, then paused, with a meaningful glance at Mac. He was already looking away. She approved. Some people handled bodies as if they were nothing more than dolls. Rainie had never liked that. This was a girl. She’d had a family, a life, people who deeply loved her. There was no need to disrespect her any more than necessary.
Gently, she lifted the top of the girl’s blouse. She had to move her head to let in the light. Then she could see it clearly, the top edge just peeking out from beneath the edge of the girl’s black satin bra—a dark brown clover-shaped birthmark.
“Yeah,” Rainie said quietly. “It’s Vivienne Benson. She was a student at Mary Washington College in Fredericksburg, spending the summer working for her uncle. He called her landlady yesterday when she didn’t show up for work. Landlady went up to the apartment, found it empty, and the dog howling to be let out of its crate. She took pity on the poor beast, then called the police. According to her, it’s not like Vivienne, or her roommate, Karen Clarence, to stay out all night. Particularly because of their dog, whom apparently they love madly.”
“Karen is a blonde?”
“Actually, Karen’s a brunette.”
Mac immediately frowned. “The body we found at Quantico had blond hair.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s not Karen Clarence?”
“No. Betsy Radison. Her brother made the ID just a few hours ago.”
“Rainie, honey, I’m a little tired right now. Can you take pity on an exhausted GBI agent and start your story over in English?”
“I’d be delighted. Turns out the landlady is a real font of information. She was sitting out two nights ago, when Vivienne and Karen came downstairs to wait for their ride. According to her, Viv and Karen were picked up by two other friends from college, and the four of them were going to a bar in Stafford.”
“The four of them?”
“Enter Betsy Radison and Tina Krahn, also living in Fredericksburg and taking some summer courses. All four girls went out Tuesday night in Betsy’s Saab convertible. None has been seen since. Fredericksburg P.D. went into Betsy and Tina’s apartment late tonight. All they could find were a dozen messages from Tina Krahn’s mother on the answering machine. Apparently she didn’t like her last conversation with her daughter. She’s been frantically trying to reach Tina ever since.”
“I gotta sit down,” Mac said. He moved away from Vivienne Benson’s body, found a tree stump and collapsed on the rough shape as if he’d abruptly lost all the strength in his legs. He ran a hand through his damp hair, then did it again and again. “He ambushed four girls at once,” he said at last, trying out the words, feeling his way into the horrible concept. “Betsy Radison, he dumped at Quantico, Vivienne Benson he abandoned here. Which leaves us with Karen Clarence and Tina Krahn, who he may have taken . . . Goddamn . . . The gray birch leaf. I thought that was too easy for him. But of course. It wasn’t an end. Just a strange beginning.”
“Like Quincy said, serial killers have a tendency to escalate the violence of their crime.”
“Did you find a letter to the editor?” he asked sharply.
“No letter. An ad in the Quantico Sentry.”
“The Marines’ newspaper?” Mac frowned. “The one distributed all over the base?”
“Yeah. We have the original of what was sent in, but it didn’t give up much in the way of forensic evidence. Quincy had it turned over to Ennunzio