The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [143]
“Guess we can pull that tail off Hancock,” Bledsoe said, running a black magic marker through Hancock’s name, eliminating him from their suspect list. “Let’s connect some dots.”
Vail settled into an empty chair near Del Monaco. “Okay. Here’s my theory: my biological mother, Eleanor Linwood, knew my father was bad news. She told as much when I went to see her. If this Patrick was my father, and he was involved with Linwood, either through marriage or some live-in arrangement, she might have taken me from my father without his knowledge. Another if, but if that was the case, it makes sense he was pissed as hell at Linwood. It’d be something he’d never forget.”
“Maybe he spent his life looking for her,” Del Monaco said. “To track her down and kill her. That would explain the personal nature of the murder, why hers was so much more brutal than the others. Based on the old photos we have of Linwood, it’s pretty obvious each of the victims resembled her. Brunet, shoulder length hair, slim build, pretty face. They were all extensions of Linwood. The way he remembered her, when she was young.”
“A lot of time to hold onto all that anger,” Robby said.
“Too long,” Del Monaco said as he settled himself into a chair. “For someone inclined to violence, as this guy obviously was, it built to a point where he couldn’t contain it anymore.”
“So how do the messages tie in?” Manette asked. “Was Linwood a carrier of something wicked?”
Vail shook her head. “It wasn’t that at all. Blood, yes, but not a viral infection. ‘It’s in the blood’ refers to a genetic link. Blood relative. Or maybe it refers to me working the case. And then there’s the gold locket. I’ve got an old photo of Emma and Linwood wearing what looks like identical necklaces. Photo’s at the lab now being enhanced. We found one of the lockets shoved up Linwood’s rectum, and the other one was buried in Emma’s keepsakes. Obviously, the killer knew about the lockets. He must’ve gotten hold of Linwood’s and held onto it all these years.”
Bledsoe lifted the telephone handset. “I’ll get a uniform posted outside Emma’s door at the assisted care facility until we get this guy in custody. What was the name of that place?”
Vail told him, and he began to dial.
“Where do we stand with your list?” Del Monaco asked.
Robby, who was sitting on the edge of his desk, reached behind him for his yellow pad. “Fifty-two Patricks. One of them, a Patrick Farwell, did show up on a roster from Velandia Correctional Facility from 1977. Did a deuce for rape, then paroled. Kind of fell off the radar sometime in the early eighties.”
“This guy is how old?” Manette asked. Like Del Monaco, she was in sweats and tennis shoes, but on her slender frame, they fit well and looked cozy.
Robby flipped a few pages. “According to what we’ve got here, looks like we got a DOB of August 9, 1947.”
Sinclair straightened. “Bingo.”
Bledsoe hung up the phone and announced, “Okay, uniform is on its way to Silver Meadows.”
“Hold on a minute,” Manette said. “That doesn’t fit your profile, does it?” She was looking at Vail, arms spread, as if she were enjoying that the profile was flawed.
Vail cocked her head. “The age difference is irrelevant—”
“Oh, here it comes. You give us an age range of thirty to forty years old, and when he turns out to be sixty-one, you say it doesn’t mean nothing?”
“If you’d let me finish, I’ll explain,” Vail said calmly. “We know Farwell did time for rape. If he is our guy, I’ll bet he also did time somewhere else, maybe under an alias or in a different state, for similar sexually related crimes. If that’s the case, and he was in the slammer for a while, that would explain the age difference.”
“How so?” Bledsoe asked.
“We’ve found that when a sexual predator is incarcerated, he doesn’t mature emotionally, even though he ages chronologically. So even though we’re looking for a forty year old, and he’s really sixty, if he’s done twenty years somewhere, emotionally he’s still forty