Silent Screams - C. E. Lawrence [62]
Chuck and Detective Butts had not yet arrived, and the three men sat in a lopsided circle around Chuck’s desk. On the desk were the case files for Marie Kelleher, Annie O’Donnell, and finally, Jane Doe Number Five—or Pamela, as they now knew her. No one had come forward with a full identification of her yet.
After poor Annie was found, the Queens detective in charge of that investigation had grudgingly admitted there might be a connection and forwarded the files over to Chuck.
“Blood in the communion wine? Talk about gothic,” Nelson said, draining the last of a day-old cup of coffee. He made a face as he swallowed the last of the bitter brew. Lee had just finished filling them all in on the latest development in the case.
“How long will it take to get the DNA back?” Nelson asked.
“Usually that kind of thing takes weeks,” Lee replied, “unless they put a big rush on it.”
“Does it really matter whose blood it is?” Florette asked. “I mean, for your profile of this guy?”
Nelson shrugged. “Not really—unless of course it’s his blood. But I think we can safely assume it’s hers.”
“So this is part of his signature?” Florette said.
“Yeah,” Lee answered. “And it means it’s evolving, which is not necessarily a good thing.”
“The tox screen on her blood came in negative,” said Florette. “That means he’s restraining her physically—so he has at least average strength.”
“Not necessarily,” said Nelson. “He could blindside her in the initial attack, knocking her unconscious before he ties her up.”
Lee shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He realized he had been hoping the tox screen would be positive—at least if the victims were drugged, there was a chance their suffering would be dulled.
“There are some chemicals that wouldn’t remain in the system long enough to show up in a tox screen,” Chuck added.
“Some,” Nelson agreed. “But he would have to have access to them.”
“Okay, so he’s getting close enough to them to attack them suddenly,” said Florette. His deep, rich baritone sounded more like the cultivated voice of an FM classical announcer than a police detective. “If he’s not alarming to his victims right away, maybe there’s something about him that disarms them—that appeals to them, even.”
“That’s why killers like Bundy are so terrifying,” Nelson said. “It’s their appeal—he was killer, con man, and fantasy date all rolled into one.”
“I’ll tell you something else about him that is just like Bundy,” Lee said.
“What’s that?” Florette asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“Have you noticed the similarities in the victims?”
“You mean, they’re all nice conservative Catholic girls?”
“No,” Lee answered. “It’s more specific than that.”
Nelson looked at the photos spread out in front of him. “Oh, God—I didn’t see it before, but you’re right!”
“Right about what?” Florette asked.
“The hair,” Nelson replied. “Remember how Bundy always chose women with straight dark hair, parted in the middle?”
Florette frowned. “I don’t have quite the same expertise you—”
Nelson interrupted him. “His victims all resembled a woman who had broken his heart—”
“But wasn’t that a common hairstyle in the mid seventies when Bundy was operating?” Chuck pointed out.
“Fair enough,” Lee said. “But the point we’re trying to make is that there’s a physical similarity between this guy’s victims too, or at least there seems to be. They all have dark curly hair, cut short.”
“You’re right,” Florette agreed.
“I think we should open our minds to another possibility,” Lee suggested.
“What’s that?” Florette asked.
“That there is more than one person involved.”
“Oh, come on, Lee—” Nelson began.
“Just hear me out—”
“Doesn’t this kind of killer work alone?” Florette asked.
“Yes, but occasionally you find them working in pairs,” Lee replied. “A stronger, more dominant type with a submissive partner—Charles Ng, for example.”
“He was the exception that proves the rule!” Nelson retorted irritably.
Charles Ng was one of the most sadistic and horribly deviant serial killers who ever lived—and a lot