The physical evidence was equally as thin. The trash bags found in the victims were of the sort you would find in any grocery or convenience store. The items in the cave, from the marine battery to the torture devices, were completely untraceable. There were plenty of fingerprints and fluids to enter into the computer, but nothing was coming back as a match. Sexual predators were sneaky, inventive. Almost eighty percent of the crimes solved by DNA evidence were actually burglaries, not assaults. Glass was broken, kitchen knives were mishandled, ChapStick was dropped—all inevitably leading back to the burglar, who generally already had a long record. But, with stranger rape, where the victim had no previous contact with the assailant, it was looking for a needle in a haystack.
Betty had stopped so she could sniff around some tall grass by the lake. Will glanced up, seeing a runner coming toward them. She was wearing long black tights and a neon green jacket. Her hair was pulled up under a matching ball cap. Two greyhounds jogged beside her, heads up, tails straight. They were beautiful animals, sleek, long-legged, muscled. Just like their owner.
“Crap,” Will muttered, scooping up Betty in his hand, holding her behind his back.
Sara Linton stopped a few feet away, the dogs heeling beside her like trained commandos. The only thing Will had ever been able to teach Betty to do was eat.
“Hi,” Sara said, her voice going up in surprise. When he didn’t respond, she asked, “Will?”
“Hi.” He could feel Betty licking his palm.
Sara studied him. “Is that a Chihuahua behind your back?”
“No, I’m just happy to see you.”
Sara gave him a confused smile, and he reluctantly showed her Betty.
Noises were made, some cooing, and Will waited for the usual question.
“Is she your wife’s?”
“Yes,” he lied. “Do you live around here?”
“The Milk Lofts off North Avenue.”
She lived less than two blocks from his house. “You don’t seem like a loft person.”
The confused look returned. “What do I seem like?”
Will had never been particularly skilled at the art of conversation, and he certainly didn’t know how to articulate what Sara Linton seemed like to him—at least not without making a fool of himself.
He shrugged, setting Betty down on the ground. Sara’s dogs stirred, and she clicked her tongue once, sending them back to attention. Will told her, “I’d better go. I’m meeting Faith at the coffee place across the park.”
“Mind if I walk with you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. The dogs stood and Will picked up Betty, knowing she would only slow them down. Sara was tall, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with him. He tried to do some calculations without staring. Angie could almost put her chin on his shoulder if she rose up on her tiptoes. Sara would’ve had to make very little effort to do the same. Her mouth could have reached his ear if she wanted it to.
“So.” She took off her hat, tightened her ponytail. “I’ve been thinking about the trash bags.”
Will glanced her way. “What about them?”
“It’s a powerful message.”
Will hadn’t thought of them as a message—more like a horror. “He thinks they’re trash.”
“And what he does to them—takes away their senses.”
Will glanced at her again.
“See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.”
He nodded, wondering why he hadn’t thought about it that way.
She continued, “I’ve been wondering if there’s some kind of religious angle to this. Actually, something Faith said that first night got me thinking about it. God took Adam’s rib to make Eve.”
“Vesalius,” Will mumbled.
Sara laughed in surprise. “I haven’t heard that name since my first year in medical school.”
Will shrugged, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he’d managed to catch the History Channel’s Great Men of Science week. Andreas Vesalius was an anatomist who, among other things, proved that men and women have the same number of ribs. The Vatican almost put him in prison for his discovery.
Sara continued, “Also, there’s the number eleven.” She paused, as if she expected him to answer. “Eleven trash bags, eleventh rib. There must be a connection.”
Will stopped walking. “What?”
“The women. They each had eleven trash bags inside them. The rib that was taken from Anna was the eleventh rib.”
“You think the killer is hung up on the number eleven?”
Sara continued walking and Will followed. “If you consider how compulsive behaviors manifest themselves, like substance abuse, eating disorders, checking behaviors—where someone feels compelled to check things, like the lock on the door or the stove or the iron—then it makes sense that a serial killer, someone who is compelled to kill, would have a specific pattern he likes to follow, or in this case a specific number that means something to him. It’s why the FBI keeps their database, so you can cross-reference methods and look for patterns. Maybe you could look for something significant surrounding the number eleven.”
“I don’t even know if it’s set up to search that way. I mean, it’s all about things—knives, razors, what they do, generally not how many times they do it unless it’s pretty blatant.”
“You should check the Bible. If there’s a religious significance to the number eleven, then maybe you’ll be able to figure out the killer’s motivation.” She shrugged as if she was finished, but added, “Easter’s this Sunday. That could be part of the pattern, too.”
“Eleven apostles,” he said.
She gave him that strange look again. “You’re right. Judas betrayed Christ. There were only eleven apostles left. There was a twelfth to replace him—Didymus? I can’t remember. I bet my mother would know.” She shrugged again. “Of course, it could all be a waste of your time.”
Will had always been a firm believer that coincidences were generally clues. “It’s something to look into.”
“What about Felix’s mother?”
“She’s just a missing person for now.”
“Did you find the brother?”
“The Atlanta police are looking for him.” Will didn’t want to give away any more than that. Sara worked at Grady, where cops were in and out of the emergency room all day with suspects and witnesses. He added, “We’re not even sure she’s connected to our case.”
“I hope for Felix’s sake she’s not. I can’t imagine what it’s like for him being abandoned, stuck in some awful state home.”
“Those places aren’t so bad,” Will defended. Before he realized what he was saying, he told her, “I grew up in state care.”
She was as surprised as he was, though obviously for different reasons. “How old were you?”
“A kid,” he answered, wishing he could take back his words, but unable to stop adding more. “Infant. Five months.”
“And you weren’t adopted?”
He shook his head. This was getting complicated and—worse—embarrassing.
“My husband and I …” She stared ahead, lost in thought. “We were going to adopt. We’d been on the list for a while and …” She shrugged. “When he was killed, it all … it was just too much.”
Will didn’t know if he was supposed to feel sympathetic, but all he could think about was how many times as a kid he’d gone to a meet-and-greet picnic or barbecue, thinking he’d be going home with his new parents, only to end up back in his room at the children’s home.
He felt inordinately grateful to hear the high-pitched horn from Faith’s Mini, which she’d illegally parked in front of the coffee shop. She got out of the car, leaving the engine running.
“Amanda wants us back at the station.” Faith lifted her chin toward Sara in greeting. “Joelyn Zabel moved up her interview. She’s fitting us in between Good Morning America and CNN. We’ll have to run Betty back home afterward.”
Will had forgotten about the dog in his hand. She had her snout
tucked into the space between the buttons on his vest.
“I’ll take her,” Sara offered.
“I couldn’t—”
“I’m home all day doing laundry,” Sara countered. “She’ll be fine. Just come by after work and get her.”
“That’s really—”
Faith was more impatient than usual. “Just give her the dog, Will.” She stomped off back to her car, and Will shot Sara a look of apology.
“The Milk Lofts?” he asked, as if he had forgotten.
Sara took Betty in her hands. He could feel how cold her fingers were as they brushed against his skin. “Betty?” she asked. He nodded, and she told him, “Don’t worry if you’re late. I don’t have any plans.”
“Thank you.”
She smiled, hefting Betty like she was a glass of wine being offered in a toast.
Will walked across the street and got into Faith’s car, glad that no one else had been in the passenger’s seat since the last time he’d ridden with Faith so he didn’t look like a monkey bending himself into the cramped space.
Faith cut straight to the chase as she pulled away from the curb. “What were you doing with Sara Linton?”
“I just ran into her.” Will wondered why he felt so defensive, which quickly led to him wondering why Faith was being so hostile. He guessed she was still angry with him about his interaction with Max Galloway the day before, and he didn’t know what to do about the situation other than try to distract her. “Sara had an interesting question, or theory, about our case.”
Faith merged into traffic. “I’m dying to hear it.”
Will could tell she wasn’t, but he ran down Sara’s theory for her anyway, highlighting the number eleven, the other points she had raised. “Easter’s this Sunday,” he said. “This could have something to do with the Bible.”
To her credit, Faith seemed to be considering it. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “We could get a Bible back at the station, maybe do a computer search for the number eleven. I’m sure there are a lot of religious nutballs out there with web pages.”
“Where in the Bible does it say something about a rib being taken from Adam to make Eve?”
“Genesis.”
“That’s the old stuff, right? Not the new books.”
“Old Testament. It’s the first book in the Bible. It’s where it all begins.” Faith gave him the same sideways glance Sara had. “I know you can’t read the Bible, but didn’t you go to church?”
“I can read the Bible,” Will shot back. Still, he preferred Faith’s nosiness to her fury, so he kept talking. “Remember where I grew up. Separation of church and state.”
“Oh, I didn’t think about that.”
Probably because it was an enormous lie. The children’s home couldn’t sanction religious activities, but there were volunteers from just about every local church who sent vans to pick up the children every week and cart them off to Sunday School. Will had gone once, realized that it really was a school, where you were expected to read your lessons, then never went back.
Faith pressed, “You’ve never been to church? Really?”
Will shut his mouth, thinking he had foolishly opened the wrong door.
Faith slowed the car as they pulled up to a light. She mumbled to herself, “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s never been to church.”
“Can we change the subject?”
“It’s just strange.”
Will stared blankly out the window, thinking he had been called strange at one point or another by every person he had ever met. The light changed, and the Mini rolled ahead. City Hall East was a five-minute drive from the park. This morning, it seemed to be taking hours.
Faith said, “Even if Sara’s right, she’s doing it again, trying to talk her way onto this case.”
“She’s a coroner. At least, she used to be. She helped Anna at the hospital. It’s normal for her to want to know what’s going on.”
“This is a murder investigation, not Big Brother,” Faith countered. “Does she know where you live?”
Will hadn’t considered the possibility, but he wasn’t as paranoid as Faith. “I don’t see how.”
“Maybe she followed you.”
Will laughed, then stopped when he realized she was being serious. “She lives right down the street. She was just running in the park with her dogs.”
“It’s just all very convenient.”
He shook his head, exasperated. He wasn’t going to let Faith use Sara Linton as a stand-in for her problems with him. “We’ve gotta get past this, Faith. I know you’re ticked at me about yesterday, but going into this interview, we’ve got to be working as a team.”
She accelerated as the light changed. “We are a team.”
For a team, they didn’t talk much the rest of the short trip. It wasn’t until they were at City Hall East, riding up on the elevator, that Faith finally spoke.
“Your tie is crooked.”
Will’s hand went to the knot. Sara Linton probably thought he was a slob. “Better?”
Faith was scrolling through her BlackBerry, even though there was no signal in the elevator. She glanced up and gave him a quick nod before turning her attention back to the device.
He was trying to think of something to say when the doors opened. Amanda was waiting outside the elevator, checking her email just like Faith, except on an iPhone. Will felt like an idiot to be empty-handed, the same way he’d felt when Sara Linton had shown up with her big, impressive dogs and he’d scooped Betty into his palm like a ball of yarn.
Amanda used her finger to scroll through emails, her voice taking on a distracted quality as she led them down the hall toward her office. “Catch me up.”
Faith ran down the list of things they didn’t know, which were innumerable, and the things they did know, which were practically nonexistent. All the while, Amanda read her emails, walking and pretending to listen to Faith tell her what Amanda had surely already read in their report.
Will wasn’t a fan of multitasking, mostly because it was more like half-tasking. It was humanly impossible to give two different things your complete attention. As if to prove this, Amanda looked up from her screen, asking, “What?”
Faith repeated, “Linton thinks there might be a biblical angle.”
Amanda stopped walking. She held the iPhone at her side, giving them her full attention. “Why?”
“Eleventh rib, eleven trash bags, Easter at the end of the week.”
Amanda used her iPhone again, talking as she punched the touch screen. “We’ve got Legal in for Joelyn Zabel. She’s brought her lawyer, so I asked for three of ours. We’ve got to play this as if the world is listening because I’m sure whatever we say to her will be spun back out to the public at large.” She looked at them both meaningfully. “I will do most of the talking. You ask your questions, but don’t extemporize.”
“We’re not going to get anything out of Zabel,” Will said. “Just with the lawyers, we’ve already got four people in the room. Add us and that’s seven, with her at the center of it all, knowing she’s going to have the cameras rolling as soon as she leaves the building. We need to take this down a notch.”
Amanda looked back at her iPhone. “And your brilliant idea for doing this is …?”
Will couldn’t think of one. All he could say was, “Maybe we could talk to her after her television interviews, catch her at her hotel without all the press and attention.”
Amanda did not do him the courtesy of looking up. “Maybe I’ll win the lottery. Maybe you’ll get a promotion. Do you see where these maybes are taking us?”
Frustration and lack of sleep caught up with him. “Then why are we here? Why aren’t you taking Zabel and letting us get on with doing something more useful than giving her source material for her book deal?”
Amanda finally looked up from her iPhone. She handed the device to Will. “I’m at a loss, Agent Trent. Why don’t you read this for me and let me know what
you think?”
He felt his vision go sharp, and there was an odd, high-pitched ringing in his ears. The iPhone hung in the air like a well-baited hook. There were words on the screen. That much he could tell. Will tasted blood from biting the edge of his tongue. He reached to take the device, but Faith snatched it from Amanda before he could.
Her voice was terse as she read, “ ‘Eleven generally represents judgment or betrayal in the Bible…. There were eleven commandments originally, but the Catholics combined the first two and the Protestants combined the last two in order to make it an even ten.’ ” She scrolled down. “ ‘The Philistines gave Delilah eleven hundred pieces of silver to bring down Samson. Jesus told eleven parables on the way to his death in Jerusalem.’ ” She paused again, scrolling. “ ‘The Catholic Church accepts eleven books as canonical in the Apocrypha.’ ”
Faith handed back the device to Amanda. “We could do this all day. Flight 11 on 9/11 hit one of the Twin Towers, which themselves looked like the number 11. Apollo 11 made the first moon landing. World War I ended on eleven-eleven. You should get an eleventh circle in hell for what you just did to Will.”
Amanda smiled, tucking the iPhone into her pocket, continuing down the hall. “Remember the rules, children.”
Will didn’t know if she meant the rules that put her in charge or the ones she’d given them about interviewing Joelyn Zabel. There was no time to reflect, however, because Amanda walked through the anteroom to her office and opened the door. She made introductions all around as she went behind her desk and took a seat. Her office was, of course, larger than any other in the building, closer to the size of the conference room on Will and Faith’s floor.
Joelyn Zabel and a man who could only be her lawyer were in the visitors’ seats opposite Amanda. There were two chairs beside Amanda’s desk, one each for Faith and Will, he supposed. The state lawyers were on a couch in the back of the room, three in a row, their black suits and muted silk ties giving them away. Joelyn Zabel’s lawyer was dressed in a blue the color of a shark, which seemed more than fitting, considering his smile reminded Will of the aquatic carnivore.
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