Vivienne and Daniel went to the board to look at the new information the team had posted throughout the day. When Nick ended his call, tossing his cell down with a muttered curse, everyone came to attention.
“Looks like you made some progress,” Daniel commented.
“Did you solve the case, Viv, luv? You always do, you know.” Nick's chide didn't come out like one, but as Ian started to call him on it, Vivienne raised a hand and shook her head.
“Don't bother. He gets cranky when a case doesn't move as fast as he wants.”
“Does it ever move as fast as you want, Larrimore?” Ian posited the rhetorical question.
Nick shook his head, then grinned. “I wasn't easy to live with, was I, luv?”
Vivienne rolled her eyes. “I wouldn't know, Nick. We never lived together. Now, focus on the case, as I'm sure you did all day while I wasn't here, and stop trying to get a rise out of Ian—”
When Vivienne snapped her mouth shut and pursed her lips, Ian knew she'd realized her mistake. She'd just acknowledged the personal nature of her relationship with the Deputy Chief of Police to the entire room. She cast him an apologetic look then motioned him to get things started. Which he was more than happy to do.
“All right. Vivienne and Daniel, why don't you give us an update on what you found up at the lab. Then we can go over what we found today.”
Vivienne moved to the front of the room and perched on a table. She looked exhausted. After everything that had happened last night, the physical and the emotional ups and downs, it didn't come as a surprise to Ian.
“We don't actually have all that much to add. The slivers that were found on both Jessica and Rebecca come from plywood, the same type of plywood. But it's a common variety, so that in and of itself doesn't tell us much.
“What is interesting about them,” Vivienne continued, “is that they both had trace absorptions of exhaust. The sliver found in Jessica had a higher concentration, but both had the same chemical makeup.”
“Which means?” Carly prompted.
“The wood was kept in a car or truck for a while before the women came into contact with it,” Daniel provided.
“Could it have happened during shipping?” Carly pressed.
“Depending on the shipping method, it's possible. But in this case, the chemical makeup leads us to believe it was a gas-fueled car or truck,” Daniel answered
“As opposed to a diesel truck,” Wyatt said.
Vivienne nodded and continued. “Maybe he's transporting the makeshift tables in his car until the right time.”
“Or, maybe his car is where he holds them,” Carly suggested.
Ian looked at Vivienne, who was looking at Carly, her head cocked to the side. “You have a good point, Carly. It's possible he could have set up his table and shackles in a car, or more likely, a van or truck,” she said.
“So it couldn't be diesel but would still need to be big enough for him to move around in,” Carly added.
Vivienne nodded and Ian considered this option before weighing in.
“If that's the case, I'd wager it's a van rather than a truck,” Ian said. “They're easier to move around in, and it's easier to conceal things in the back.”
“Okay, so maybe we can add that to the board?” Vivienne said.
Wyatt got up and wrote ‘Van?’ on the board behind her.
“What else did you find, Vivienne?” Ian asked.
“Dirt,” she responded.
“Soil,” Daniel corrected her.
“Soil, then,” Vivienne said, rolling her eyes. “And only on Rebecca. Jessica's remains were too contaminated, too old. Everything we found on her, with the exception of the sliver, was consistent with her dumping spot. Rebecca, on the other hand, had soil on the tips of her right fingers and the bottoms of her heels that was inconsistent with the soil in the well.”
“Which means?” Ian asked.
“We're not sure. But…” Vivienne's voice drifted off.
Ian watched as a distant expression stole across her features. She was making connections and coming up with ideas.
“It might give more credence to our theory of a van,” she said.
“In what way?” Ian asked.
“Well, at first I was thinking she might have gotten soil on her fingertips and heels from being dragged, but now I don't think so. The mechanics don't work,” Vivienne answered.
“How's that?” Wyatt prompted.
“Here, let me show you. Ian?” She waved him over. “Put your hands under my arms, as if you were going to drag me and take a few steps back. I'm going to let my body go, so be prepared for the weight.”
“Yeah, I think I got it,” Ian responded to her warning before thinking about it. His mind had instantly gone to how easily he'd held her weight the night before. Judging by the look on her face, her single arched eyebrow, and the smile that played at the edges of her mouth, it must have come through in his tone.
“I'm going to step back now,” he said, clearing his throat. And he did. And she made her point. By the time Vivienne was close enough to the ground where both her heels and her fingertips dragged, he was hunched over like Igor. No one would drag a dead body around like that, at least not far. Not even a psycho serial killer. It was too awkward and too uncomfortable.
“But this,” Vivienne said, standing upright and then moving toward a table. “Makes more sense.” She lay down on the table and positioned herself in a reasonable facsimile of how they imagined Rebecca and Jessica were shackled. Her heels rested against the tabletop and her fingertips brushed against it over her head.
“But if he keeps them shackled on the same surface as the wood sliver we found, why aren't there slivers in her fingertips or heels?” Wyatt asked.
“Because she was probably kept on the ground, or close to it,” Carly answered standing up. Ian turned toward his officer as she approached the table. Vivienne propped herself up to see better. Nick was sitting forward, a crease between his brows.
“Why do you say that?” Ian asked.
“A couple of reasons.” Carly paused and studied Vivienne before motioning her to scoot down the table. Vivienne moved down until her feet and ankles were hanging off the edge. “It's possible that the shackles aren't part of the table, but attached to the ground, in which case, her wrists and ankles might hang off the edge of the wood.”
Ian frowned in thought, impressed with her report. “Good point, Carly.”
“It is a very good point,” Vivienne echoed. “And, I think, if we're on the right track, probably a correct point. It would explain why there aren't slivers in her fingertips, and it also makes it easier for the killer to clean up.”
“Remove the board, burn it, replace it with a clean one, and, voila, you have no biological evidence and a clean place for your next victim.” This came from Nick, who sat back and crossed his arms as he spoke. “And then there's the rape aspect of it,” he added.
Ian wasn't going to like where this was going. Especially when Nick got up and moved to Carly's side.
“And that was going to be my second point,” Carly said, her voice contemplative.
“Meaning?” Wyatt asked.
“The mechanics of it.” Ian's voice was flat as it dawned on him what Nick was alluding to.
“Yeah,” Nick said. “If her wrists and ankles are hanging off the board, the board can't be that big. And it's a lot easier to rape a woman when you aren't worried about falling off the ledge. Not to mention you'd have better leverage.”
“Which means, if she was restrained this way,” Vivienne spoke, lying back down for visual impact—one that Ian could do without, “then chances are she was close to the ground, making it easier for him to do his thing and better for her to collect trace soil evidence on her fingers and heels.”
“Okay, time to get up, Vivienne,” Ian said, breaking everyone's intense focus on her. Seeing her lying there, in the place of Rebecca Cole or Jessica Akers, was giving him the cold sweats.
“And space for him to do what he's done to these women,” Vivienne added.
Ian frowned at the reminder, then spoke. “I want everyone to keep an open mind because what we're talking about here makes sense, but there could be a hundred other options we aren't considering. But if we are on the right track, we're probably looking for a large, industrial-style van. The kind with no windows, like electricians use, not a minivan or commercial passenger van,” he added.
He gave everyone, including Nick, a pointed look. What they were saying did make sense. But they were dealing with someone who killed women for some unknown reason, and he didn't want to rely on ‘good sense.’
“So anything else, Vivienne?” Ian asked. She shook her head and slid to the edge of the table. “Okay, Carly and Nick, do you want to go over what you all found today?” The two looked at each other, and Carly gave Nick a nod to go first.
“We are tracing the last moves of both women—which is obviously easier with Rebecca, who has only been missing a little more than a month, than Jessica. Still, we've tracked down some friends of both. Colleagues in the NYPD will be interviewing them and collecting evidence as time permits. They'll send everything to Sam as soon as possible.
“In the meantime, we're working on getting the phone and bank records. Again, easier for Rebecca, harder for Jessica,” Nick provided.
“What about Jessica's mother? Will she be coming up?” Vivienne asked Nick.
Ian saw a look of frustration pass over Nick's face before he answered. “No, she won't be coming up.”
Vivienne raised her eyebrows at this.
“Jessica's mother blames her for her father's downfall. She didn't exactly say her daughter got what she deserved, but she was very nonchalant about the remains. She gave me the name of a funeral home to release them to when we're done. Said they'd take care of everything.” Nick didn't bother to hide his disgust.
“When you talked about notifying her mom, it sounded like it was going to be devastating. Her response isn't in line with that at all,” Vivienne pressed.
Nick frowned. “Yeah, well, when Jessica went missing, it was before General Akers's fall from grace. Before Mrs. General Akers was ostracized from society and her entire life fell apart. She's had a lot of time to reflect and blame someone. I guess she's blaming Jessica.”
“Nice,” someone muttered.
“Any more we can do or is everything moving along?” Ian asked.
Nick shrugged. “If you can produce some phone records, that would be great. Other than that, we've got all the requests in, and we're just sitting on our hands for a day or two.”
“Any estimates on when we might start to see things?” Ian pressed.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Nick answered. “A couple of days for the physical evidence to be collected and sent to the lab by NYPD, a day or two for the records, maybe a few more for the interviews. I may go down there and do a few myself, depending on how things go.”
“Okay, Carly?” Ian asked, swinging his gaze to the officer. “What about the other women?”
“I talked to most of the case officers for the women we have on the list. Two I had to leave a message for. One is, well—” Carly's eyes went to Vivienne for a moment, and she looked uncomfortable. “Well, he didn't want to talk to me about the case, but he said you needed to call him, Dr. DeMarco.”
Ian's eyes tracked to Vivienne. She frowned. “Call me Vivi, and why does he want to talk to me? Who is it?”
“Lucas Rancuso. Boston PD,” Carly supplied.
Vivienne let out a deep breath then a quiet curse. “The three women in Boston?”
Carly nodded.
“I'll call him tonight or tomorrow,” she said.
Carly looked at Ian. He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Ah, Viv,” Nick sat back, glee in his voice.
“Shut up, Nick.” She glared at him before turning back to Carly. “Lucas and I are longtime friends. Those three cases we're looking at in Boston didn't ring a bell when we first started talking about them, but now that I know they were Lucas's cases, I remember them well.”
“And why does he need to talk to you, Vivienne?” Ian asked.
She sighed. “Because when Lucas tied the three missing persons cases together, he didn't like how the women looked like me. One of them was even a professor at the same university I teach at. He's a good friend of the family and has been for years. He won't like that I'm looking into them, and he'll want to know what I'm doing and that I'm okay. That's all. Like I said, I'll give him a call later and get us the information we need.”
She gave Ian a reassuring look, communicating to him that'd she go into it more later. He nodded and waved Carly on.
“So, have you found anything interesting, Carly?” Ian asked.
Carly contemplated a piece of paper she was holding before answering. “I think there are a few women we can eliminate from our list.” Indecision was clear in her voice—not indecision about her opinion, but about bringing it up. There was a lot to lose, for the women, if she was wrong.
“Walk us through it, Carly,” Vivienne coaxed.
Carly nodded and stepped up to the board. “This woman, Amy Clayton, was in an abusive relationship and there was some evidence that her boyfriend was involved in her disappearance. He's a rich real estate broker and lawyered up right away, but the case officer said they had some evidence that he'd taken her by force in his car. They just didn't have enough to arrest him.
“And this woman,” Carly said, pointing to one of the pictures, “Jolene Henderson, has three kids. None of the other women have kids.”
“What did the case officer have to say?” Ian asked.
“That she was a hard-working woman who went missing during Katrina.”
“Okay. Who else?” Vivienne asked.
“Francis Buckley was a prostitute. It doesn't fit since all the other women were attractive, successful women. Francis was attractive, at some point, but not successful and definitely from a different socio-economic strata than the other women.”
“That's good. Any more?” Vivienne prompted again.
“The last one I think we can eliminate is Sarah Kirk. She looks the part in many ways, but she was thirty-three when she went missing ten years ago.”
“Most of the women on the board are about that age. Give or take five or so years,” Wyatt pointed out.
Carly shook her head. “No, most of the women would have been thirty-three or thirty-four this year. All of the women were born within a year of each other.”
Vivienne stood and went to the board, scanning each of the profiles. Nick got up and followed. By watching the two, Ian knew Carly had stumbled onto something.
“Well, shit,” Nick said when he reached the end.
“You can say that again,” Vivienne uttered.
“Guys?” Ian prompted.
“Carly is right, and I can't believe we missed it,” Vivienne shook her head, still studying the board.
“What does it mean?” Ian pressed.
“It could mean our killer is what Vivienne likes to call a relational killer,” Nick supplied. Everyone turned to her for an explanation, including Nick.
“A relational killer is a term I use,” Vivienne said. “It's not official. But what it means is that the victims have a relational resemblance to the killer. An example might be something like a killer whose victims are all single fathers whose children are the same age as the killer. Which means that, as the killer ages, so do the fathers, or victims. The profile of the victim changes because it's related to something external.”
“And in this case?” Ian asked.
“I would wager that it's about the age of the killer, so, as he ages, the victims age. Which would explain why the latest victim is thirty-four, but this victim,” Vivienne said, pointing to another
photo of a woman who was reported missing five years ago, “is only twenty-nine. It's not a variation in his victim profile, it's a central part of it.”
The news hit Ian with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“So you're saying to me that the age parameters we put in when conducting our database searches are completely irrelevant?” Ian asked, overwhelmed by the possibilities.
“No, age is very relevant,” she answered, “Just not in the way we were originally thinking about it. We were using age to define the boundaries, assuming his victims, like the ones we think we've found, are between the ages of approximately twenty-eight to thirty-five. But now we can use age to show us the path he's taken. The good news is this can give us a lot more information about him, specific information. The bad news is, because we don't know his age or the age he started killing, we need to go back far enough to the extent that it would have been impossible for him to commit the murders.”
“How far back?” Ian demanded.
“To be on the safe side, thirty-four years. Something about that date triggered something in the killer. He might have started then,” Vivienne answered.
“Thirty-four years,” Ian repeated, stunned at the potential enormity of it.
“But we only need to look for women born in these two years,” Vivienne said, writing them on the board. “It will eliminate a lot of women. And I'd recommend starting the year this woman was killed,” she said, pointing again to their twenty-nine year old. “And go back year by year, looking for women of the right age. I doubt he's been killing for thirty-four years, and my guess is we'll find fewer and fewer victims as the women get younger and younger.”
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