Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [120]
“Good point,” Lee said. “So probably it isn’t gender specific, but could just be his signature evolving.” Underneath the last entry he wrote:
“That’s self-explanatory,” said Chuck. “But how does it help us?”
“He’s methodical and thorough. He probably drives a late-model car, well maintained. His appearance will be neat and not call attention to itself.”
“What about visiting the bodies, sir? Might he do that?” Ruggles asked. “I remember how the Green River Killer used to do that, and that’s how they caught him.”
“It’s possible,” Lee said. “If they are there long enough without being discovered—but we’ve hardly given him time. They’ve usually been discovered within a day or two at the most.”
“I take your point, sir,” Ruggles said.
“The water motif means more to him than it did with the Green River Killer,” Lee mused.
“Right,” Chuck agreed. “The Green River Killer just used the water to dispose of his victims, but with this guy you think there’s a deeper meaning there.”
“There’s one more thing,” Lee said. “I don’t know if it’ll help us find him, but it’s likely there was a precipitating stressor before his first victim. Something in his life that changed—probably for the worse.”
“A breakup, a job loss, something like that?” Butts suggested.
“Could be—but I think we should keep our minds open. The important thing is not the event itself, but his reaction to it. Whatever it was, it pushed him over the edge, and caused him to start killing.”
“All right,” said Chuck, looking at his watch. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need some caffeine.”
He scooped some coffee into the Krups grinder and pushed the button. Lee watched as the beans tumbled over each other as the blades shredded and ground them to dust. The loud clattering assaulted his sleep-deprived system and made his ears ring. He looked at the others. Butts was staring at the coffee grinder with a blank expression, Ruggles was fiddling with the photos on the bulletin board, and Chuck was leaning wearily on the edge of his desk, pouring water into the coffeemaker.
It was going to be a long night.
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
Later that night, shortly after arriving home, Lee heard a rapid, timid rapping on his door. When he opened it he was stunned to find Charlotte Perkins standing there, rain dripping from her soaked garments. She wore a long woolen cloak with a hood, but it was no match for tonight’s downpour. Her matted hair hung in damp strands around her face, and she was shivering.
“The lady who lives downstairs let me into the building,” she said apologetically.
“Come in, please,” he said, taking her sopping wet coat and hanging it on the coatrack to dry. “How did you find me?”
“You left your card with my brother when you were at our house.” She looked around the apartment while rubbing her hands together.
“Can I get you something hot to drink?”
“Y-yes, p-please,” she said, her teeth chattering.
He put the kettle on and came back to the living room. She was seated on the ottoman in front of the couch, her thin arms wrapped around her body. Whereas Ana Watkins had sauntered in and taken possession of the place as if she owned it, Charlotte Perkins was an uncomfortable visitor, trying to take up as little space as possible.
“Would you like some dry clothes?” he asked.
She looked up at him gratefully. “Do you have some?”
“Yes—my, uh, girlfriend keeps some clothes here I think you could wear.”
Was Kathy still his girlfriend? She hadn’t called to ask for her clothes back yet, at least. He thought of giving Charlotte something of his, but that felt like too intimate a gesture for this virginal woman in her prim lace-up boots and long skirt. He suffered a brief pang of guilt at offering Kathy’s clothes, but brushed it aside. Charlotte Perkins was at least half a foot taller than Kathy, but had the rail-thin build of a fashion model, and he thought she would be able to slip into one of Kathy’s dresses easily.
He ducked into the bedroom and returned with the most conservative things he could find