Part 15 (2/2)
She had no illusions about the sort of missions he'd taken part in while in Afghanistan. What all those commendations and medals listed in his military record must have cost him.
A man like that, she reflected as she hurried to catch up with him, would be in dire need of peace.
Chapter 12.
Sheriff Marin Andrews paced the length of Cait's motel room at the McKenzie, puffing on a cigarette with short staccato pulls. ”And this detective . . . Drecker . . . he suspects Recinos's ex?”
”Yes, but if Marissa Recinos turns out to be our female C, Drecker has to be wrong about that. Her ex certainly didn't have motivation for killing all seven of the victims.”
”Where are you on the profile of the UNSUB?”
The woman was as agitated as Cait had ever seen her. She'd been chain-smoking since she arrived here, and Cait had never seen her with a cigarette before. It made her glad she'd taken the time to complete the profile after she and Sharper had parted ways that evening.
Crossing to the desk, she picked up the file folder lying on it and handed it to the sheriff. ”This is only a preliminary,” she stressed. ”It will evolve quickly if this lead pans out.”
Andrews took the folder but didn't open it. ”Why don't you give me the highlights?”
Unsurprised, Cait complied. ”Without factoring in any of the unknowns about Recinos, I'm guessing our guy is a native to the area. Possibly still lives around here.” She thought for a moment of Sharper's a.s.sessment. He, at least, seemed convinced that was true. ”Early to midthirties. In good shape. Either he lives outside city limits, or he has access to a place outside of town.”
Andrews squinted at her through the smoke. ”Because of the beetles?”
”Not necessarily. I've known people who keep them in their garages, but not our guy. Before the bones are ready for the beetles, he has to deflesh them. That's messy and there's going to be a distinctive smell. No one's going to do that in town and not have neighbors know about it. It's going to take a well-ventilated area, and he needs privacy and time. I'm guessing he's marginally employed.”
The sheriff snorted. ”You just described about fifty people in these parts that I could name personally.”
Cait was half thinking out loud. ”I just can't quite figure out what he does with the tissue once he defleshes the bodies.”
”We can be sure he doesn't bury it, right? Or else he'd bury the whole body, bones and all.”
”Those paintings on the scapulas . . .” Cait paused, the images flas.h.i.+ng through her mind. ”Those are likely the reason for his method of disposal. Not the act of using the dermestids. Not the cave itself. It's all about those paintings. He has to mark the victims in some way. Maybe they're a way to brand them as his.” Serial offenders were often bizarrely possessive about their victims. ”The method he uses will have something to do with his experiences, his ego. It symbolizes something for him. Power, maybe. Affection. Even remorse.”
”If this victim does turn out to be Recinos, all those images are about her. Symbols of her life. And death,” the sheriff added.
Understanding that she was referring to the last image of the skull, Cait nodded. ”But I'm talking about why he feels the need for the drawings in the first place. It makes more sense if they depict his hunt. If he stalks them first, I could understand him painting symbols of things he'd learned about the victim in that process. It's an exciting time for the hunter, on the trail of his prey. In that case, the images would be more a tribute to his cleverness than having much to do with the victim personally.”
Andrews dropped her spent cigarette into the water gla.s.s Cait had given her to use as an ashtray. ”You said affection. Does that mean he knows the victims?”
”It's possible, but I doubt it. At least if he's acquainted with them it's only in the manner by which they came to his attention in the first place. But it's not unusual for the offender to feel emotionally close to the victim at the time of death.” Seeing the shock in the sheriff's stare, she lifted a shoulder. ”The act of murder is often seen by the offender as intimacy. Perhaps the most intimate act he or she is capable of.”
”But you don't think these crimes had to do with rape?”
”There's no way to tell with only skeletal remains, unless the rape was violent enough to result in a fracture. But it would be unusual for a serial rapist to target both males and females. A s.a.d.i.s.t, maybe. Someone motivated by the deliberate affliction of pain. Problem is, without tissue-”
”-we can't verify whether the victims were tortured, either.” A flicker of frustration crossed Andrews's face. ”I'm beginning to wonder if defles.h.i.+ng and decapitating them are both merely part of his MO. They help him enact the crime and avoid detection.”
”It's possible.” It was important when establis.h.i.+ng a profile to remain open to other ideas. Each new piece of evidence they acquired could morph the doc.u.ment to a degree. Cait nodded at the file folder the woman still hadn't opened. ”But as I wrote in there, I'm guessing if we find the offender, we'll find the skulls.”
”Because he's the type to take trophies?”
”Because he's expended so much time and energy on them. Not to mention talent. And it just defies imagination that he disposes of the skull, flesh, and bones all in different ways.”
Andrews rubbed her eyes with the heel of one palm. She looked, Cait thought, the way Barnes had sounded on the phone . . . was it just this morning? Like she needed to sleep round the clock.
”All right. Let's plan on briefings each evening, at least by phone. But update me more regularly as you get details on the Recinos angle. What's on your plate for tomorrow?”
”I've got to take some soil samples to Kristy. I'd promised to get them to her today and never got the chance.”
”Don't worry, Mitch has been keeping her plenty busy.” Although the temperature in the room was comfortable, the sheriff's face was flushed. She fanned herself with the file folder. ”He spent the day researching which manufacturers make black biodegradable garbage bags and sent a couple deputies to pick up different samples found in the area. Picked up the bags from the crime lab without latents, and she's logging reference comparisons on them.”
”Well the fluorescent paint we ordered should be here tomorrow, at the latest. I'll probably spend the day in the lab and run those tests.”
”How soon can we expect that DNA sample from Recinos's mother?”
”It depends on how quickly Drecker can get her to a lab. Day after tomorrow at the earliest, probably.” Forestalling the woman's next comment, Cait said, ”I'll compare the DNA profiles the minute it comes in.”
Giving an abrupt nod, the sheriff moved toward the door, the file folder still clutched in her hand. ”Sounds like a plan.” Her hand was on the k.n.o.b before Cait halted her.
”I've got Sharper's elimination prints here, too. And mine.” She crossed to the desk and picked up the ten print cards she'd labeled and put in evidence bags. Handing them to Andrews, Cait tried not to think about the awkward moments spent lifting them. Zach's mood had bordered on dangerous when she'd reminded him, after they'd returned to her vehicle, about the need for the prints. But he'd cooperated as she'd led him through the process of inking each finger and pressing it to the card. Hadn't, in fact, uttered a word the entire time. Had just fixed her with a smoldering stare that had made her movements unnaturally clumsy.
After cleaning his fingers with the wipe she'd handed him, he'd walked away. Climbed back in his Trailblazer. Pulled out of the lot. And left her with a vague sense of guilt, the memory of which still annoyed her. There wasn't a man alive who would be allowed to make her feel guilty about doing her job.
At least there never had been before.
Andrews slipped the bags inside the folder she carried. ”Great. I'll get these to the regional lab myself.” She gave a cynical smile. ”Helps to keep the Stateies at least marginally involved in case we need something from them later. They're none too happy about not being invited to help with the investigative end of things on this case.”
The statement explained a lot. Cait had wondered why the latent work on the bags had been parceled out, when she and Kristy could have handled it. And she wasn't surprised the sheriff was territorial about the case. She'd want all the credit for the successful resolution of this case.
”We've got all the staff's prints on file, so we've run those for the personnel who were at the scene. Got elimination prints on the civilians we used, too. We still need to get your tech's.”
”I'll do that tomorrow,” Cait promised. She'd go through the motions as a matter of procedure, but she knew neither her a.s.sistant's nor her prints would match the one left on the bag. They'd been too careful.
”With any luck we'll discover that leaving that print was the first mistake the UNSUB made,” the sheriff said grimly. ”And once we catch him we'll be able to use it to nail his a.s.s to the wall.”
It would be a critical piece of evidence tying the UNSUB to the crime, Cait agreed silently. But first they had to catch him.
Another thought occurred. ”Oh, and we found Kesey today. One of the roamers Barnes discovered with a record?” The woman looked at her inquiringly, and Cait gave her a quick rundown of her findings.
Andrews was philosophical. ”Not much chance he's involved, if he's only got one arm. You think he's telling the truth about seeing someone around at night that once?”
”Fairly certain.” Cait snuck a look at the alarm clock on the bedside table. She wanted to get a look at Ketchers sometime this evening. ”He was motivated by the money. I figure if he thought there was more in the offing, he'd have spilled everything he knew.”
Nodding, Andrews opened the door. ”They usually do.”
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