Live to Tell - Lisa Gardner [53]
She demanded two more detectives, bare minimum.
He granted her Boston’s drug squad to assist with background info on Hermes.
It was more than D.D. normally got from her stressed-out, budget-bound boss, so she considered it a victory.
Her squad accepted the news without blinking. So they’d be eating at their desks and neglecting their families. That went without saying in this day and age of reduced government funding and escalating rates of homicide. You didn’t become a detective for the lifestyle.
Given that their weekend appeared grim, D.D. decided the first thing they should do was break for lunch. Half a dozen donuts doesn’t last a girl as long as you’d think. Fortunately, the BPD cafeteria was not only located conveniently downstairs but was known for its food.
D.D. went with rare roast beef on rye, fully loaded, plus a giant slice of lemon cake. Phil, who she would swear was half woman, ordered a chef’s salad. Neil requested egg salad, a questionable choice, D.D. thought, for a man due back at the morgue. The lanky redhead downed his sandwich in four bites, then was out the door, whistling cheerfully. D.D. suspected he’d taken an interest in the ME. God knows they were spending a lot of quality time together.
Alex settled in beside D.D. with grilled chicken and penne pasta. She gave him grudging respect for eating hot food on a day when it was over ninety.
He loaded up on salt, red-pepper flakes, then Parmesan. After a bit of experimenting, he seemed to decide his lunch was good to go. High maintenance when it came to food.
Naked. In her bed. Cold chills. Warm thrills.
D.D. took a giant bite of sandwich.
“You can’t really believe the two cases are linked,” Alex asked after a minute. Phil was sorting his way through his salad, avoiding tomatoes, loading up on ranch dressing. He looked up at this, eyeing D.D. with equal skepticism.
She took another bite, chewed, swallowed. “Can’t decide,” she said at last.
“Well, you gotta think something,” Phil countered, “since you just bought us both cases.”
“Victims have nothing in common,” Alex said. “Given the difference between the two families’ geography, occupations, and lifestyle, what are the odds they knew the same homicidal maniac?”
“Could be a stranger crime,” D.D. said with a shrug.
Alex arched a brow. “Even lower probability, given that you’re talking about an attack on an entire family, which, at least in the Harrington case, occurred while still daylight. A disorganized killer might have the impulsiveness for such an attack, but not the methodical approach. Organized killers generally take the time to scout out risky targets.”
“One of BTK’s first crimes was an attack on a family right after breakfast,” D.D. said, referring to the notorious Bind Torture Kill murderer who operated for decades in Kansas. “He talked himself through the front door, then held a gun on the kids until the parents agreed to be tied up. Once he subdued the parents, he proceeded according to plan.”
“No evidence of bondage at our scenes,” Phil pointed out.
“And BTK stalked his targets first,” Alex said firmly. “He spent months on reconnaissance before he made his move. We’re talking two crimes that occurred within thirty-six hours of each other. Where’s the time for stalking, for identifying each family member, formulating a strategy for attack, and, here’s a thought, for knowing that each household happened to have a twenty-two handgun on-site, let alone get possession of it?”
“Perpetrator got lucky?”
Alex gave her a look. “If it’s a serial case,” he continued relentlessly, “where’s the downtime? Most of these guys take a moment between victims, revel in a job well done.”
“That’s sick,” D.D. said crossly, mostly annoyed that Alex was right, which meant she was wrong. Being horny was hard enough, but being horny and stupid would be too much to bear.
“That’s the point,” Alex was saying. “One killer for two entire families in a span of less than thirty-six hours is a long shot. That kind of bloodlust, combined with such high-level