The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [161]
She sat there on the stool, fighting through her alcohol haze to process the meaning of this. Finally, she managed, “Can’t be.” Vail reached for the phone and dialed Bledsoe. He answered on the second ring. “Bledsoe, what’s—”
“All I know is first cop on the scene said it looks like a Dead Eyes job. I asked him, is the left hand severed, he said no. I asked if there was any writing in blood on the walls, he said no.”
“You’re thinking copycat?”
“That’s what I’m thinking. I’m in my car. Meet me there ASAP.”
She hung up and relayed the info to Robby, who had already gotten dressed. He was strapping on his shoulder holster, when she threw the ice aside and announced she was going to go with him.
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’ve got surgery in the morning. Besides, you can’t even put weight on the leg. Stay here, ice the knee. I’ll call you as soon as I get there, walk you through the scene. I’ll take some photos and video and you can review it all as soon as I get back.”
“You okay to drive?”
“Hey, you’re the lightweight. I’m fine.”
“I hate being like this. I need to go and do, not sit around. I can’t just stay here.”
He shrugged on his wool overcoat and gave her a long kiss, then pulled away. “I’ll call you as soon as I look over the scene.” She grabbed his hand as he turned to leave. He looked at her over his shoulder. “I love you, Hernandez. Be careful.”
seventy-nine
Bledsoe was the first of the task force members to arrive. He relieved the patrol officer, who had responded to the call and roped off the surrounding area with yellow crime scene tape.
“Lights were off inside,” the cop said. “I used my flashlight, didn’t touch anything. I even put the bedroom door back the way it was when I walked in.”
“Good,” Bledsoe said.
“My partner’s canvassing. He radioed in a few minutes ago. Nothing to report.”
“Who discovered the body?”
“Neighbor. But 911 didn’t get a name. They’re analyzing the tape now. It was a short call, sounded garbled like it came from a cell phone. They gave the address, said they were a neighbor, and then the signal dropped and we lost the call.”
“Male? Female?”
“Operator thought it was male, but wouldn’t swear to it.”
“What do we know about the vic?”
“Place is registered to a Laura Mackey. DOB 5-9-69. Dark brown hair, best I could tell with my flashlight. Looked like someone did a chop job on her hair, though.”
A chill bolted up Bledsoe’s spine. He nodded, then turned toward the front door.
“It’s bad, sir. Real bad. Be perfectly honest, I had to come outside and get a breath of air before I called you. Felt like throwing up.”
“I know the feeling.” Bledsoe patted his pocket, felt the air sickness bag, and said, “Okay, take your position. No one through except the task force. Forensics should be here soon.” As Bledsoe turned away from the cop, Robby and Manette pulled up to the curb. He waited for them at the front door.
“Sinclair and Del Monaco are on their way,” Bledsoe told them. He produced a bunch of latex gloves from his pocket and handed them out.
“Karen’s not coming,” Robby said, wiggling his left hand into the glove and snapping the rubber to position the fingers properly. “Knee’s real bad. She can’t even stand.”
Bledsoe looked up from his gloves. “Shit. I was really hoping she could give us some insight as to what the hell is going on here.”
“Her insight will just be a lot of might this and maybe that,” Manette said. “Won’t do us no good. See where it got us?”
“We don’t know anything till we look everything over,” Robby said. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. We can’t have any biases.”
Manette leaned back. “You been spending too much time with Kari, I think. You beginning to sound just like her.”
Bledsoe frowned, then opened the front door. They filed in slowly, eyes roaming every square inch of the entry area and hallway. Looking for signs of a struggle—scrapes on the walls, broken glass on the ground, and blood . . . just about anywhere.
But there was nothing.
They continued through the house, clearing room by room until they reached the one at the end of the hall.