"I was just about to do my summary report with Agent Trent." Pete started to roll back the sheet covering the lower half of the body.
Michael flinched visibly. "Just give me the highlights, okay?"
Pete rolled the sheet back up, stopping just under the girl's neck, telling them, "I believe she tripped and hit her head. The force from the fall shattered her skull above the left temporal lobe. Her neck twisted on impact, snapping the spinal cord at C-2. Death was instantaneous. An unfortunate accident, but for the missing tongue."
Michael asked, "Did they locate it yet?"
"No," Will answered, then asked Pete, "Could you go over the differences between the two murders?"
"Of course," Pete replied. "Unlike your prostitute, this girl's tongue was not bitten off, but cut. Most likely a serrated knife was used. A lesser man might not notice, but I'm certain it's different."
Michael asked, "How can you tell?"
"The cut is not clean, like your biter." The doctor snapped his teeth together to illustrate, the sound echoing in the tiled room. "What's more, I would expect a crescent pattern, because the teeth are not in a straight line in the mouth, but curved. If you look..." He had been about to open the girl's mouth, but seemed to change his mind. "There are several test marks where whoever removed her tongue obviously had difficulty getting a grip on it. The tongue slid and the blade caught. Your guy was determined, though. He accomplished the task on the third or fourth try."
"It was slick?" Will asked. "From blood? Saliva?"
"There would have been little blood because she was already dead by the time the mutilation occurred. I would assume his grip was compromised because the tongue is so small. Further, a grown man would have difficulty reaching his hand into her mouth. It's very narrow."
Michael was nodding, but he didn't seem to be listening to Pete. His eyes were still locked on the girl and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He looked away for just a second, using the back of his hand to wipe the tear, pretending to be rubbing his nose.
"And of course the missing tongue is interesting," Pete opined. "In the other cases, the tongue was always left with the victim. Perhaps your perpetrator has graduated to taking souvenirs?"
"That's common with serial killers," Will told them, trying to draw Michael out. Maybe the man was back too soon. Angie had said that he loved children. Perhaps, like Will, this was harder on him because of the girl's age. And, Barrett was his neighbor, so Michael had probably watched her grow up. That kind of thing would be hard on anyone, even without a trip to the morgue to see her cut open.
Michael cleared his throat twice, finally asking, "Was she raped?"
Pete equivocated, and Will waited to see how he would answer, and how that answer would affect Michael. "There are definitely signs of forcible entry, but it's difficult to say whether the act was consensual or not." Pete shrugged. "Of course, if the rape was post mortem, then there wouldn't be signs of vaginal trauma because the force reflex would be gone."
There was a tight smile on Michael's face, the kind you gave when you were anything but pleased.
Will reminded, "You said that she's sexually experienced. Maybe we should find out if there's a boyfriend in her life."
"I asked Gina about that last night," Michael offered, explaining, "Gina's my wife." Will nodded and he continued, "Cynthia wasn't dating anybody. She was a really good kid. Phil never had a moment's trouble with her."
Will knew the father was a traveling salesman who had been on the other side of the country when his daughter was murdered. "When will he be back?"
"This afternoon at the latest," Michael answered. "I'd like to knock off early so I can go check on him." He turned to Will. "I'll let you know if he has anything useful."
Will nodded, understanding the message: Michael would talk to the father alone. Part of Will was glad he was being spared the task.
Michael asked Pete, "Did you get any DNA?"
“Some.”
"I'll run it upstairs for you."
"Thank you," Pete said, walking over to the counter by the door. He handed Michael a sealed paper bag containing Cynthia Barrett's rape kit.
Will asked Michael, "Do you think there's a connection between these cases and the ones I showed you yesterday?"
The other man's gaze was back on Cynthia's face. "No question about it," he answered. "He's obviously escalating."
Will asked, "Is there anyone you've come across since the Monroe murder who might look good for this?"
The detective shook his head. "That's all I thought about last night. There's nobody I can think of who would do this." He paused a second before suggesting, "I figure it's somebody who was watching the Monroe crime scene when I showed up. I went straight home after. They probably followed me. Jesus!" He put his hand to his forehead. "They could have gotten Tim. My wife..." He dropped his hand. "I've moved my family out of the house. They're not safe with this maniac out there."
"That's probably best," Pete said. He put his hand on Michael's arm. "I'm so sorry, Detective. I'm so sorry that this has happened to you."
Michael nodded, and Will saw that he had tears in his eyes again. "She was a good kid," Michael managed. "Nobody deserves this kind of thing, but Cynthia..." He shook his head. "We've got to catch this guy. I won't feel safe until the warden's putting the needle in this fucker's arm." He looked right at Will, repeating himself. "I won't feel safe."
Will leaned against Michael Ormewood's car, waiting for the detective to join him. He flipped open his cell phone and stared at the screen, wanting to call Angie. There was something she was not telling him. He had known her long enough to figure out when she was hiding something. Maybe he could ring her up and ask if she'd remembered anything else about Michael. Angie had worked with the detective. She knew about his extracurricular activities. She had to know more than she was letting on.
"Shit," Will whispered, snapping the phone closed. What an idiot. She had probably slept with the man. He was just her type: a married, unavailable asshole who was bound to use her, then walk away.
Will inhaled and let out a long sigh of breath, feeling his own stupidity overwhelm him. He had been worried about John Shelley when Michael Ormewood was the latest jerk in her life. Will wondered if she was still seeing him. They had been standing pretty close together when he'd found them in the hallway yesterday. Though, last night, Angie had been brutal about Ormewood when Will had asked her about him. If she was still sleeping with him, Will was certain she would have said so then. Or maybe not. Two years had passed. This was the longest he and Angie had ever gone without talking to each other. Things might have changed.
No, nothing ever changed.
"Shit," Will repeated. He put his hands on the roof of the car and pressed his forehead against them. What could he do? Go confront her? Demand she tell him what she'd been doing for the last two years?
Will dropped his hands and turned as the stair door banged open. Ormewood was walking across the parking lot, one hand in his pocket, a half-smile on his face. He didn't look tired anymore. The man actually looked pleased. He'd probably dropped by Angie's desk on his way to delivering the rape kit to the lab. He might have even grabbed a quickie in the supply closet for all Will knew.
"Sorry I took so long," Michael said as he unlocked the car doors. "Had to see a man about a dog."
"Right," Will mumbled, sliding into the passenger's seat. He looked out the window, waiting for Michael to get in and start the car. If he clenched his jaw any harder, his back teeth were going to break.
Michael put his arm along the back of Will's seat as he reversed out of the parking space. He shifted into drive and headed out of the garage, saluting the guard at the gate as they passed.
"What a shitty day," he said, slipping on a pair of dark sunglasses. "You got kids?"
"No," Will said, thinking this was the second time Michael Orme-wood had asked him that question. Maybe Angie had told him Will wouldn't have kids. He had a mental image of
her and Ormewood splayed out in bed, postcoital bliss turning into a game of telling secrets. Would Angie do that? Would she betray Will like that?
"I can't imagine what Phil's thinking right now," Michael said. "If something ever happened to Tim, I'd feel like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. He's a part of me, you know?"
"I can see that."
"What about a wife?" Michael asked. "You married?"
Will turned to look at him, trying to figure out where he was going with these questions. "No," he said.
"Seeing somebody?"
Will bristled, but he tried to control it. "No."
"Gina," Michael said, oblivious. "She works at Piedmont in the ER. What's that they always say about cops? They either marry nurses or hookers?"
Considering Michael had left his last assignment under such a dark cloud, Will thought it was pretty dangerous for him to be joking about prostitutes.
Will began, "That Polaski woman..." He tried to think of something an asshole would say about a woman. All he could come up with was, "She's pretty attractive."
Michael looked surprised, like he might not have considered Will had a penis. "Yeah," he said. "Listen—man to man—I'd stay away from that one."
"Why's that?"
"She's got a temper. Know what I mean? She looks real sweet, but inside, she's a class-A ball-breaker."
Will leaned his elbow on the door, stared out the side window.
So, he had slept with her.
Michael changed the subject. "I'm sorry I kind of lost my shit yesterday when I saw Cynthia. I've been doing Homicide for a while now, but you never expect something like that to happen, to actually know the person."
Will counted the telephone poles, saw the billboards and street signs in a blur of letters that would never make sense at this speed. "Yeah."
"I've gotta tell you, I'll never be able to do this job the same way again. Notify people, I mean. Puts it in a whole new light when you know the person involved, know the victim and the parent and all."
"I imagine so."
"Did you get a chance to look at that Monroe file?"
"I skimmed through it," Will lied, relying on what Angie had told him about the prostitute. "You arrested her a few times when you were in Vice."
Michael finally seemed to feel the tension in the air. He gave Will a sideways glance. "Yeah," he admitted. "Polaski told me that yesterday. I'd forgotten all about it. Those sweeps. You ever work Vice?" Will managed to shake his head. "You can go through a hundred of 'em in a week. It's all chasing your tail, no pun intended. You lock 'em up and they're out on the street an hour later."
"You never dealt with her pimp before? Baby G?"
Michael shrugged. "Not that I remember. These guys grow up so fast. One minute they're a little kid skipping school, the next they're toting a nine-mil and running everything from pussy to meth." He shrugged again. Maybe that was where Angie picked up the gesture. "Baby G might know me from before, but he didn't let on if he did. You think he's got something to do with the murders? I never checked his alibi for Sunday night."
"He was with us when Cynthia was killed," Will reminded him.
"I'm sure he's got plenty of soldiers to do his dirty work."
Will nodded.
"I need to look through my Vice files. I'll take them home tonight."
Will felt the need to offer, "I can help, if you like."
"No." His tone had been sharp, but he softened it with an explanation. "You know how it is. You only put down half the information in the reports. The rest you keep in your head so they can't trap you when you're on the stand, say you wrote one thing when you meant another."
"Right." Will stole another glance at Michael Ormewood. He was not as tall as Will but he had the usual dark good looks and a solid build Angie was always attracted to. He obviously didn't work out as much as Will, but he hadn't gone to seed, either. Maybe he had played football in high school. Will had loved football, but he'd been too ashamed to join any team sports that would require him to strip down in the locker room. Ormewood had probably been some kind of all-star, the captain of the team, the one all the other guys looked up to.
Will took another deep breath and let it out slowly.
This was really great. One stray thought about Angie sleeping with Ormewood and suddenly Will was reliving his failed high school sports dreams. Will knew that Angie would never tell any man much about anything. Meeting new conquests was a game she played, a game where she got to reinvent herself. Telling them the truth about her past would spoil her fun. If she wanted to be with someone serious, someone who knew her inside and out, she would stay with Will.
Michael tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. "Greer told me I could take some personal time. I don't know. Sitting on my hands isn't something I'm good at. I'd never forgive myself if I missed something and this guy took another life. He could be out there right now looking for a new victim."
"Yeah," Will agreed, realizing that in his personal quest to emasculate himself he'd failed to notice that Michael was talking to him as an equal rather than an adversary.
Michael drove through the Homes, passing the same teenagers on their bikes that Will had noticed the day before.
"We should bust them up," Michael said. "They should be in school."
"Why wasn't Cynthia in school?" Will questioned.
"I dunno. Maybe she wasn't feeling well."
"What's her attendance record like?"
"What's that got to do with anything?"
"Her father was out of town most of the time. She was alone a lot without parental supervision."
"Gina and I did the best we could looking out for her." He had taken Wills words as a condemnation.
"Did your mother-in-law often see her at home during the day?"
"You'd have to ask Barbara that," Michael said, parking the car in front of building nine.
"Do you mind if I do?"
"Barbara and I are pretty close, and she never mentioned anything to me about Cynthia being home. I'll ask her, okay? But I think that's a dead end. Cyn was a good kid. She got great grades in school, never got in trouble. Phil always said she was an angel."
"You seem to know a lot about her."
Michael looked at his hands on the steering wheel. When he spoke, it seemed he was confiding in Will. "We tried to look out for her. Phil was never home. His wife ran off with some loser about six years ago, never looked back. He did his best, but I dunno..." He turned to Will. "Your best isn't good enough when you have a kid—you have to do better. You change your priorities, don't drive a new car every two years, don't wear expensive suits and go out to dinner and movies all the time. You sacrifice."
"Phil didn't do that?"
"I think I've said enough," Michael told him, taking the key out of the ignition. "He's got enough in his life right now without his friends talking about him behind his back."
Michael opened the car door. He said, "The BMW's gone," meaning the pimp was probably not home.
Will followed him to the grandmother's flat, which was on the bottom floor. They knocked several times but even though they could hear a television blaring inside and the old woman laughing along with the studio audience, no one answered.
Will asked, "Monroe's apartment is on the top floor?"
"Yeah," Michael said. "I wouldn't take the elevator if I were you."
Will followed Michael up the stairs. Except for the grandmother's apartment, the building was quiet. People were either at work or sleeping off last night, and the only sound was their footsteps making scuffing noises against the stairs.
Toward the top, Will slowed his pace, stopping where Aleesha Monroe's body had been found. Blood stained the stairs, despite the fact that someone had obviously tried to clean up the marks.
"She died here," Michael told him, stopping on the landing to catch his breath.
Will knelt to look at the pattern, the bloody ghost of the handprint climbing the stairs. The crime scen
e photos were bad enough, but there was something eerie about being in this place where the woman had died.
"I don't think he meant for her to die," Michael said.
Will looked up, thinking the man had said this at least twice before. "Why is that?"
"She rolled onto her back." He indicated the outline where Monroe had lain. "The blood must have pooled and she choked to death." He waited a second, looking down at the bloody stairs. "It's sad, but it hap-pens.
Will didn't think he'd ever had a case where this had happened before, but he nodded as if people accidentally died this way all of the time. He asked, "What do you think happened?"
Michael squinted up the stairs as if he could see it all unfolding. "I'm guessing they were in the apartment when some kind of dispute broke out. The John left and maybe she didn't want him to. They scuffled here," he indicated the steps, "then it went bad."
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