Part 21 (2/2)
Boynton took a delicate sip of bourbon. ”I'd be inclined to doubt that. The wound was neat, but it wasn't professional. And a doctor would've used a scalpel, probably. The knife this fellow used had a narrow blade, about seven inches long. Single edged, something like a carving knife. Very sharp. He takes good care of his tools.”
Grigsby smiled bleakly again. ”So how come he knows about anatomy?”
Boynton shrugged. ”If he's done this three times before, he's had plenty of opportunity to practice. And the uterus isn't a difficult organ to locate.”
Grigsby swallowed some bourbon. ”Why do you reckon he's cartin' away pieces?”
”Mementos?”
”Mementos? Somethin' to remember the hookers by? That's pretty f.u.c.kin' sick, Doc.”
”So is your killer.”
”But why the uterus?”
”I couldn't say. Did he remove the uterus from any of the others?”
”From all of em, looks like.” Grigsby frowned. ”How much time would he need to do that to Molly? Everything he did?”
”An hour at least. Closer to two.”
Two hours of hacking and slicing. ”So what can you tell me about him, Doc?”
”Well.” Boynton smiled faintly and adjusted his spectacles. ”I'd say that he's not very happy with women, or at least with prost.i.tutes. The others were all prost.i.tutes?”
”One was a storekeeper's wife, but maybe she was hookin' on the side. Somethin' else, though. All of 'em had red hair.”
Boynton shrugged. ”Then I'd say that he's not very happy with redheaded prost.i.tutes.”
Grigsby said, ”Some redheaded hooker maybe gave him a dose of clap?”
Boynton frowned thoughtfully. ”I'd guess it was something more than that, Bob. He was like a kid with a brand-new toy. He really enjoyed himself. He was having fun. You saw what he did to her breast? On the table there?”
Grigsby nodded. He swallowed some bourbon.
”I can picture him,” Boynton said. ”I can see him dancing around the room with those strips of her-”
”Dancin'?”
”He left b.l.o.o.d.y footprints all over.” Boynton frowned. ”You were there, Bob. You didn't notice that?”
Grigsby shook his head. ”Too busy forcin' myself to look at Molly.”
Boynton nodded. ”Sure. Well, you could see from the prints that he'd been up on his toes, jumping from place to place. Like he was doing some crazy kind of dance.”
Grigsby sat up. ”Hold on there a minute. He took his shoes off?”
Boynton nodded ”In places you could see the outline of each separate toe. I think he was probably naked the whole time he was working on her. Would've made it easier for him to clean himself off, afterward. There was b.l.o.o.d.y water in the basin under-”
”Anything funny about the feet? Missin' toes?”
”No. Just a normal pair of feet.”
”Big feet? Small feet?”
”Average.” He shook his head. ”No help for you there, Bob.”
”Did Greaves get somebody to trace an outline of the prints?”
Boynton shrugged. ”I couldn't say. It'd be the obvious thing to do, though, wouldn't it?”
Grigsby nodded. If he could get hold of one of those traced outlines ...
”Anyway, like I say,” said Boynton, ”I can picture him dancing around, and laughing and giggling while he played with pieces of Molly. This one is a real can of worms, Bob.”
”So from the footprints, you reckon he'd be about average height?” That would eliminate Wilde.
Boynton nodded. ”But footprints can be deceptive. I knew a miner once who was six foot six and weighed two hundred pounds, but he wore size nine boots. It was always a wonder to me how he managed to stand up without falling flat on his face.”
Grigsby told himself to take a look at Wilde's feet next time he saw him. He glanced down at his own size twelve boot and he frowned. He looked up at Boynton. ”You think this sonovab.i.t.c.h could be a nance?”
Boynton frowned. ”A h.o.m.os.e.xual? What makes you ask that?”
”I got some suspects, and a couple of 'em are nances.”
Boynton thought about it. ”Why not?” he said finally. ”I'm not saying that he is, now. There's nothing in what he did that would indicate he was a h.o.m.os.e.xual. But I don't see any reason why he couldn't be.”
”What turns a fella into a nance, anyway, Doc?”
Boynton smiled. ”Just the luck of the draw, I'd guess.”
”You reckon they're born that way?”
”Probably. But I'd say that the culture has something to do with it, too. You know that in some societies, h.o.m.os.e.xuality was actually encouraged. In ancient Greece, for example.”
Grigsby smiled. ”You ain't goin' nance on me, are you, Doc?”
Boynton laughed lightly, comfortably. ”Not a chance, Bob.”
Grigsby suddenly remembered that Doc Boynton had been a bachelor all his life.
WHERE WAS SHE?.
An entire day had pa.s.sed and Oscar had neither seen nor heard from her.
It was all very well to go gadding about the slums of Denver, to spend time chatting with professionally colorful old dipsomaniacs about dead prost.i.tutes, to bandy pleasantries with the mysterious Doctor Holliday (how on earth had the man managed to materialize just then?); but finally, desperately, he missed the violet eyes, the t.i.tian hair, the sly supple sensual smile of Elizabeth McCourt Doe.
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