Black Orchid Girls (Detective Amanda Steele)

SEVEN

Amanda pulled her attention from the snail, tearing herself from the craziness of her thoughts. The snail was another victim. It would be taken back to the lab, examined thoroughly, swabbed, possibly dissected. At least its sacrifice would likely be worth it. Unlike the loss of the girl’s life. Meaningless.

“Todd Hampton is cueing up the video surveillance they have on the lot,” Malone said.

“What about his precious warrants?” Amanda asked.

“I’ve secured verbal ones through Judge Anderson.”

Amanda smiled and bobbed her head. Anderson was a great guy. “Terrific.”

“Hold the excitement until we see if it gives us anything.”

He didn’t need to tell her that. Life had taught her many years ago that nothing was guaranteed. There was no sense counting on a happy ending—they were reserved for fairy tales. She’d had that rude awakening when she lost her husband and daughter in one fell swoop to a drunk driver over six years ago.

“Which way are you leaning with this, Amanda?” Malone asked, no longer standing on formalities since no civilians were around. Also because he was an old family friend—which had both its advantages and disadvantages. One advantage was being able to let down the professional guard every now and then, to shoot straight. The disadvantage could be taking liberties that resulted in hurt feelings.

“Too early to say, in my opinion.” He really wouldn’t want to hear that she was giving some consideration to a serial killer at work. “Apparently the girl came to the park often, but not before opening.”

“That anyone knows about,” Malone said.

She chewed on that for a second or two. “I suppose it is possible there were other times she came early. It still raises questions, though. And the way she was posed… Like her killer had remorse. We’ve been trying to figure out whether it was because the killer knew the girl, followed her here, met her here, or was happy with whomever happened along his path.”

“I’d say it’s someone who’s killed before,” Trent interjected. “Rideout said there was no hesitation on the stab wounds. Someone experienced at killing?”

“Oh, here we go again.” Malone flailed his arms. “A serial killer?”

Amanda held up a hand. “No one’s jumping there yet.” But if the evidence did lead them there, it would seem unlikely that remorse was a factor in the posing of the body. Then again, there were some people who had the compulsion to kill, but not the desire. Remorse could come into play in those cases.

“Seems your little buddy is.” He jacked a thumb at Trent.

Buddy? That had her going silent for a few beats.

“And correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t we be looking at several victims in that case?” Malone asked.

“All we know,” she said clearly and pointedly, passing a look at Trent, “is that there was no hesitation. The killer was determined. Possibly an experienced killer, sure, but not necessarily.”

“In the least, prepared,” Trent pushed out. “This was premeditated.”

Amanda nodded. “Now that I would give you.” She turned to Malone. “The meticulous way in which the killer cleaned the girl’s body indicates that. Then there’s the black orchid. It’s not found in the park.”

“Which means the killer brought it with them,” Malone said.

“That’s right. Also there’s the dual symbolism attributed to the flower.” She filled him in.

Malone’s brow compressed in concentration. “Light and dark. Good and evil.”

“Exactly. Considering the flower was brought here, that tells me it was selected, likely picked for its meaning.” She felt confident in that assessment. Trent was watching her with a quizzical expression on his face. “What?”

“Just listening to you talk about it, our killer is probably the type of person who would pay credence to such things as symbolism.”

The words black magic came back to Amanda’s mind, but there was a line between that and having an interest in the symbolic meaning of things.

Trent glanced at her as if he had more to say but was hesitant for some reason. She motioned for him to go ahead.

“We also need to consider whether the killer picked it for the full embodiment of its meaning—the dualities—or just one aspect. Does the killer see himself, assuming it’s a man, as good and the girl evil? Or the other way around?”

Malone blew out a large breath. “I’ll leave that riddle for you to solve.”

“So thoughtful.” Amanda smirked. “At least one aspect of it is on the way to being solved.”

“Oh?” Malone stood taller, stretching out his back.

“From speaking with the ranger”—she butted her head toward the bench where she’d talked with Helen McCarthy—“she said the girl came upwards of three times a week, usually when the park opened at six in the morning. No name yet, but from the sounds of it, the victim attended the Potomac Center for Science and Environmental Studies.”

“Geoffrey Michaels University,” Malone said.

“That’s right. And she was huge into the environment and studying the snails—at least from the sound of it. We could benefit from K-9s coming out, seeing if they can find the girl’s clothing, possibly other personal items she had at the time of her murder. If she was here studying the snails, there’s probably a phone, tablet, or laptop…”

“I’ve already made arrangements for a K-9 unit to come in. Officers have already been scouring the parking lots and woods along the trails in this area that lead down to the water.”

Officer Brandt was trudging toward them, appearing like a man on a mission and holding up a clear evidence bag. “Found it in Lot C.”

Amanda inspected the find. A light-blue coral necklace.

“That’s where the Swansons parked,” Trent inserted. “They said they didn’t see any cars.”

“All that means is the killer was gone by then,” Amanda said. Had he left in the girl’s vehicle, or had the two traveled to the park together? Was there another explanation? “Well, I think it’s a good time to follow up with Ranger Hampton.”

“Good job.” Malone patted the officer on the shoulder, and the three of them headed to the park’s office while Brandt took the bag over to the CSIs.

“There’s not much to see,” Todd told them when they walked into the office. He was seated at a desk behind a counter. He waved a hand toward a computer monitor.

Ranger McCarthy was there too, at another computer, clicking away on a mouse. She met Amanda’s gaze, and there was definite sadness in the woman’s eyes. Jane Doe had made an impact on her, that much was clear.

“Helen’s digging to see if she can find the girl’s name,” Todd said. “Whenever someone with a pass comes into the park, their card is slid through a reader and timestamped.”

Which she’d gathered from talking with Helen, but she nodded as if it were news.

“Here’s the video from Lot C, if you wanna take a look.” Todd butted his head toward the monitor.

A door in the back opened, and a forty-something man about six foot tall with cropped brown hair emerged.

“Jamie Bolton?” Amanda asked, running with the assumption as she was too far away to read the name on his uniform.