Her Last Word

“On their way.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure how my interviews will help.”

“Jennifer’s stalking, her murder, Erika’s disappearance, and your stabbing all started when you began your research.” He wasn’t smiling now, and his tone had sharpened just a little.

There was a time she’d have felt backed into a corner by his harsh tone. But she was coming to recognize this was how he sounded when he was working a case. She drew in a breath. She needed and wanted to believe he wasn’t going to throw her under the bus if the case got too hot to handle.

He held her gaze. “Are you sharing everything with me?”

“You know all that I know now, Detective.”

“And you will keep me in the loop if you learn anything new?”

“Yes. Will you do the same?”

“I can’t promise that right now. I wish that I could, but I can’t. The case has to come first.”

She didn’t like hearing that, but she sensed he was being honest.

“How did you choose your interview subjects?” If Adler realized he’d upset her, he didn’t seem to care.

“I went through all the media reports I could find and made a list of everyone mentioned and went from there. I interviewed whoever would talk to me.”

“Any idea who killed Jennifer?”

She ran a trembling hand through her hair. She felt like a raw nerve. “I want to help and to remember. I’ve been through hypnotherapy before, but I could do it again.”

Adler arched a brow. “If it comes to that, we’ll talk about it. What does your gut say about this killer?”

She drew in a breath, dialing down her anger. “I’m trying to set up an appointment with Steven Marcus, the reporter who covered Gina’s disappearance extensively and who knows the case better than anyone. I’m hoping he has more ideas.”

“I haven’t talked to Marcus.”

“Excluding North, he’s your best expert on Gina’s case.”

Adler wrote down the name. “Do you have a number?”

She reached for her phone and rattled it off. “He’s on deadline and won’t be available until Saturday.”

“Maybe you can include me in your meeting.”

“Sure. I’ll let you know when we make contact.”

His phone buzzed, and he looked down. A heavy sigh hissed over clenched teeth. “Erika Crowley has been found.”

“Is she all right?”

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”

She tried to swing her legs over the side of the bed, forgetting for a split second why she was here. A shot of white-hot pain reminded her. “So you’re just going to leave me hanging like this? You aren’t going to tell me what’s going on?”

“For now, no.”

INTERVIEW FILE #19

THE SEARCH AND RESCUE TEAM

Saturday, March 3, 2018; 2:00 p.m.

The three barking bloodhounds move around me with a playful energy, but they sniff my outstretched hands with a keen intensity. Larry, Moe, and Curley range in age from one to six years old, and they belong to search and rescue expert George Dunkin. They are his pride and joy. Dunkin is the brainchild behind K-9 Find, a nonprofit group that has logged thousands of search hours and recovered over a dozen missing people.

“Basically, a dog’s brain can evaluate smells forty times better than a human’s. We walk into a room and smell the beef stew cooking. They smell all the beef, potatoes, carrots, peas, garlic, onions, and whatever other ingredients are in that stew.”

George and his K-9 Lucy spent hundreds of hours in the woods searching for Gina. With Lucy at his side, Dunkin was interviewed four times on the evening news as well as the morning shows.

“Why did you and Lucy spend so many hours on this particular search?”

His brown eyes grow wistful at the mention of Lucy’s name. He sorely misses that dog. “She was the best dog I’ve ever had. The best.” Absently he rubs Moe’s head. “We were at home watching the news when Gina Mason’s face appeared on the screen. There was something about her smile that touched my heart. I couldn’t sit by and do nothing, so Lucy and I got to work.” He’s silent for a moment. “I still have one of Gina’s T-shirts that we used to search for her.”

“You saved her shirt?”

“I couldn’t let it go.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Tuesday, March 20, 2018; 10:00 p.m.

Erika Crowley’s body was found in a cobblestone alley near Eighteenth Street in the Shockoe Bottom district of the city. The anonymous call had come in at nine p.m., and the caller sounded drunk on the 911 tape when he reported he’d gone behind the dumpster to urinate and spotted the body. He’d called from an untraceable cell phone.

The police cruisers were nosed in the alley’s entrance, and their lights flashed bright blue onto a fading cigarette ad painted a half century ago on a brick warehouse.

Adler pulled on latex gloves as Quinn came around the side of her car to meet him. “Anyone spoken to Brad Crowley?”

“No. We’ve kept a tight lid on this,” Quinn said.

They crossed the cobblestone street to the alley’s entrance. Each nodded to the uniformed officer and then ducked under the crime scene tape. The camera lights of a forensic technician flashed behind the dumpster.

The tech, Dana Tipton, rose up, and spotting Adler and Quinn, she backed up several steps so they could see the body.

Erika’s body lay propped against the dumpster. Her thick blond hair swooped around her neck and draped over her chest, but she was posed as Jennifer had been. Her clothes were intact, but her legs were spread and each hand rested on the inner thigh. Though Jennifer hadn’t been sexually assaulted, he couldn’t yet rule it out in this case. Some attackers made their victims redress, or they did it themselves postmortem. Again, the medical examiner would have to make the call.

Her manicured hands were scraped, torn, and bruised. Her yoga clothes were soaked in sweat and urine, and her white V-neck pullover was coated in grime, dirt, and blood. Her left slip-on shoe was missing.

Painted on her chest in red marker was a heart that resembled the one found in Jennifer’s shower.

Adler squatted, and using the tip of a pen, pushed back the top fold of Erika’s pullover. One deep knife cut slashed across her jugular.

“Wound is consistent with Jennifer Ralston’s,” Quinn said.

“But there’s no blood around her. Her clothes are soaked, but no blood. And the urine smell and the trauma to her hands suggest she was held somewhere before she was killed. If it’s the same guy, he’s changed tactics.”

“Why hold her for several days, kill her, and bring her here?” Quinn asked.

“I don’t know.” Adler studied the victim’s pale-blue lips. “And unless Kaitlin healed magically and escaped the hospital, she couldn’t have done thi

s.”

“No, she couldn’t,” Quinn conceded.

“You sound disappointed,” Adler said.

“John, I don’t trust her.”

Erika’s engagement ring was still on her finger. “Our anonymous caller didn’t take her rings,” Adler said.

“Maybe he was spooked,” Quinn said.

“Very possible. But down here, a ring like that doesn’t last long. When did the 911 call come in?” Adler asked.

“At 9:02 p.m. A uniform was on scene by 9:07 p.m.”

“Did the officer see anyone loitering around?”

“No.” She studied the large diamond catching the forensic technician’s light. “You think the killer called it in?”

“Whoever killed her wasn’t motivated by her diamonds.”

Her wrists were red and dotted with a sticky substance, suggesting she had been restrained with tape of some kind. The same material dotted her pale and drawn lips. “Where the hell has she been the last few days?” he said, more to himself.

“She wasn’t killed here,” Dana said. “The lack of blood, as well as the lividity on her backside, proves that.” Dana tilted the body forward and lifted the shirt to reveal the black-and-blue markings. When the heart stopped pumping, the blood settled at the lowest point. “In her case, it was her entire back and buttocks, suggesting after she died she was laid on her back. As you can see she’s been propped up here.”

Adler stared around the dark alley. It was a half block off Eighteenth Street, wedged between two buildings, and neither wall facing the alley had windows or a camera. They were less than five blocks from Jennifer’s house and less than a block from Kaitlin’s apartment. It occurred to him it would have been easy enough for the killer to pose her body and leave in a matter of minutes.

“How long do you think she’s been dead?” Adler asked.

“Rough guess?” Dana asked. “Twenty-four hours give or take. Rigor mortis has come and gone.”

“Did cold weather conditions prolong it?” Adler asked.

“I don’t think so. I’m assuming the body was kept in a warm place,” Dana said.

“That puts time of death around two or three p.m. yesterday,” Adler said.