The 7th Victim - Alan Jacobson [95]
Vail took a deep breath and forced herself to evaluate the scene. “It might. She really got in his face, challenged him big time on TV. But there could be more going on here. He might’ve known her. Or, at least, there might’ve been some connection we’re not aware of.”
Manette shook her head. “There we go again, ‘might’ve this, might’ve that.’ Ain’t nothing you sure about?”
“I’m sure this guy is escalating. For whatever reason, we’ve got a problem on our hands.”
“We’ve had a problem,” Robby said. “Now it’s a nightmare.”
Vail’s gaze settled on what remained of Linwood’s face. “I think this vic could be the key. Trauma to the face and head generally means a relationship between the offender and victim. Like Del Monaco said, this was a personal attack. And he didn’t merely disable her, like the others, he bludgeoned her before bringing her into the bedroom.”
“Detective Bledsoe.” A forensic technician walked in wearing latex gloves. “You should see this.”
Bledsoe led the entourage into the master bathroom. The technician pointed to a small drinking glass filled with blood.
“Is that what I think it is?”
“As near as I can tell,” the tech said, “it’s blood. We’ll run it and see if it’s the vic’s. Could be animal.”
Robby knelt beside the glass. “Has it been dusted and photographed yet?”
“Yeah, we’re done with it.”
Robby held his hand out and the tech passed him a pair of latex gloves. He slapped them on and carefully lifted the glass up to the light. “Looks like he drank from it.”
“Hard to say,” the tech said. “There’s a smudge where the lip print would be, and there’s a coating of blood on the inside of the glass. We still have to luminol the bathroom, but it may be he poured blood out of the glass into the sink.”
“Or he drank from it and wiped it afterwards to smudge the print.”
“Pretty smart offender if he did that,” Sinclair said.
Vail moved closer to examine the glass. “We already know the guy is smart.”
Bledsoe held a hand against his stomach. He looked a bit ashen and was heading toward the door. “Let’s move out of here, discuss this in the other room.”
As they walked back into the bedroom, Manette scrunched her face. “I’m afraid to ask, but what does it mean, if the guy drank her blood? That’s beyond gross.”
Vail sighed. “Drinking the victim’s blood, which our killer’s never done before, is stimulating, even exciting for him; it heightens his fantasy.”
Manette shook her head. “Damn.”
Everyone was quiet, alone with his or her own thoughts. Murder scenes like this one often prompted such a response. Pondering how someone could do such a thing to a human being. But they had seen plenty of murders during the course of their careers and most detectives reached a point where they became numb to stabbings and shooting deaths. But this went beyond what most of them were accustomed to dealing with. Even Vail and Del Monaco, though having seen some of this before, were nevertheless scratching their heads.
“Okay, so let’s look at what we’ve got,” Robby said. “Footprints from outside the property leading along a row of hedges that gives him cover from either the front of the house or the security lights. He gets in, how?”
“Only entry on that side of the house is through the garage,” Sinclair said.
Del Monaco rubbed at his jiggly chin. “Okay, so he waits for someone to leave out of the garage, and he slips in. Linwood hears something, or she’s standing near the garage anyway, and he bludgeons her with a blunt object. Beats her, where?”
“Possibly on the face, but definitely above the left ear,” Sinclair said, kneeling beside the bed and examining the corpse.
“Defensive wounds?”
Robby crouched by Linwood’s right side. “Abrasion right forearm, possibly a couple of fingers, too. Need an x-ray to see if there’re any fractures.”
“So this guy has totally changed his MO,” Vail added. “He’s not interested in talking to this woman. Usually, we figure he