Fifty-One
Zach was hoping for some big lead to close this investigation. He hated feeling as though they were racing to stop a killer who would always be just out of reach. As it was, there was another body to their killer’s credit now, and they’d been powerless to prevent it. Sadly, reality didn’t mirror law enforcement as presented in most crime dramas. There were cases that went cold, and the ones that didn’t certainly weren’t solved within an hour. And the job certainly wasn’t as glamorous. Solving murders was a hard task that entailed a lot of tedious hours mulling over reports and questioning people, just in the hopes of catching insights into their killer. But, hell, he’d miss it. Almost as much as he’d miss the team.
The CSIs had worked around Roxanne’s body, collecting evidence and snapping photos. But the phone remained on Roxanne’s abdomen, taunting them. Everyone had to be asking themselves whose it was, but until an ME got here and had a first look at the scene, they’d go on not knowing.
“Beating his victims may be something he’s been doing all along,” Brandon noted. “West’s and Sullivan’s heads didn’t show bruising, but that doesn’t mean their bodies weren’t beaten. Cabot’s body clearly showed signs of physical abuse, and Kelter, well, her head showed it. Does he usually keep the beatings beneath the neck?”
“We don’t have them, so we don’t know,” Paige said with a subtle smile.
“Another lovely thought,” Brandon responded with sarcasm.
Jack’s phone chimed a message notification and he pulled it out.
“Strangulation could be his signature,” Brandon suggested. “It certainly would give our unsub a pattern. Even Kelter has signs of it on her neck…or what was left of it.” His Adam’s apple bulged, and a paleness washed over him but quickly disappeared.
“It’s quite possible that West and Sullivan were strangled, too,” Zach agreed. “It easily could have been missed. Lily barely noticed it on Kelter.”
“Whatever the case, it seems that even though our killer has an efficient way of killing people, he derives some pleasure from using his own hands,” Jack jumped in, his eyes still on his phone.
“He derives pleasure in taking life,” Zach added. “His self-restraint may seem low, but he’s very much in control of his actions. It seems he may be getting more of a lust for killing. And if that’s the case, we could be looking at more victims before this is all over.”
“Don’t even say that,” Paige lamented.
“I’m just calling it how I see it.” As sick as that all was, and as much as Zach didn’t want to admit it, it was true. “He might not even bother worrying about if the people he chooses are connected to DUI accidents anymore. He could come unhinged to the point that anyone he views as a threat to his way of life needs to be eliminated.”
“Possibly, but—” Jack lifted his phone “—I was just scanning the background on Cabot that Nadia sent me. Roxanne doesn’t have a vehicle now, but she had a Honda registered to her years ago. It was written off four years ago—after a car accident demolished it.”
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess,” Paige said. “The accident was caused by a drunk driver.”
“It was,” Jack affirmed, “but they died.”
“So Roxanne wasn’t at fault,” Brandon stated the obvious. “Maybe the killer could relate to her and that’s how they bonded.”
“That’s assuming he knew about it,” Paige said.
“I think it’s fair to assume that he did,” Jack cut in. “I’ll have Nadia look into when and where Roxanne was treated for any injuries from the accident. See if anything matches up with our other DUI accident victims.”
Jack was about to touch the screen to e-mail Nadia when a man called out. “Anyone going to talk to me?”
Zach peeked through the living room doorway and saw the landlord. An officer was struggling to hold him back from entering the apartment.
“You!” the landlord called to Zach. “Agent Miles? Talk to me.”
Jack asked, “Who is that, Zach?”
“Howard Mann. The landlord.” Zach glanced back at the door, and the officer was looking over a shoulder, begging for respite.
“He wants to speak with whoever is in charge,” the officer said.
Jack dipped his head. Projecting his voice, he said, “I’ll be right out.” To Brandon, speaking at regular volume, he added, “You’re with me. We’ll talk to Mann and then Cabot’s neighbors. Paige and Zach, you two check with the CSIs, see if they’ve found a laptop, desktop, or tablet yet. We know the unsub left Cabot’s phone, which was either a stupid move or he’s not concerned about it leading us to him. But there has to be a digital footprint somewhere for us to follow, communication between him and Cabot. Make sure the phone’s rushed for analysis.” Jack headed for the door, waving for Brandon to follow.
Paige flagged down a CSI and told him how important it was to get Cabot’s phone processed ASAP, and he promised to make that happen.
“Did either of you find a laptop?” Zach asked the CSIs.
“Not yet. Glove up and feel free to take a look around,” one of them said. “Just call us to photograph it if you find anything. And don’t touch it, of course.”
“You got it.” Zach was pleasantly surprised by the accommodating tech. No need for a turf war.
Zach snapped on a pair of gloves, and Paige did the same. She stepped toward the entertainment credenza, and she was dipping into drawers before he even left the living room. He took off down a short hall and came to a bedroom. It looked like a cyclone had struck. Clothes covered the floor and dresser drawers were open with shirts and pants hanging out of them. The closet doors were open, too, as was the drawer in the nightstand. The comforter was bunched up on the floor at the foot of the bed. It was hard to say if the place had been ransacked or always looked this way.
He skipped the room, not wanting to potentially contaminate the scene. He heard Lily’s voice coming from the living room and smiled. The woman may work with the dead and have morgue humor down pat, but she made the living happier just by her presence.
Zach went back down the hall and found a bathroom of modest size. Nothing fancy, just functional, much like the rest of the place. The toilet and vanity were to the right, and there was a tub-and-shower combo on the left. Directly across from the toilet was a shelving unit with a bunch of folded towels. And on one of the shelves, a laptop sat, positioned at a height almost equal to the toilet seat. Seeing that made him think of Sheri instantly. She loved to rig up her laptop on a chair next to the tub. She’d Netflix and soak until her fingers pruned.
He called a CSI in to photograph the location and discovery of the laptop. After the CSI finished, Zach picked up the laptop. Hopefully, it had battery life or he’d be on another hunt. His gaze fell, drawn to the woven tote on the bottom shelf, and he pulled it out. There was a mess of wires inside, most belonging to various hair appliances, but he saw the one he’d been after—the laptop charger. He grabbed it and set out for the kitchen.
He set up at the counter and opened it. Thankfully, it was on and Roxanne was logged in. There was no security or password required. That was rather unusual these days, but it would make his job go faster.
Paige rounded the corner into the kitchen. “Oh, looks like you had luck.”
“Yep. I’m not complaining.” He looked at the battery icon in the bottom corner: 75 percent remaining. “And it’s got juice.”
He opened Cabot’s e-mail program. Seven new e-mails filtered in as he read through the subject lines and senders of the ones already in her inbox. Most were newsletters. Lots saved from IKEA. Her inbox was overflowing; it showed six hundred e-mails. He pointed the number out to Paige. “There’s where the luck runs out. There are just a few we have to wade through.”
Paige held up her hands, backed up, and smiled. “You mean you have to wade through.”
“Come on. Be a team player,” he teased.
He proceeded to open some messages, Paige watching over his shoulder, but it wasn’t long until he spotted a name that made his blood run cold: John Doe. Zach double-clicked the first one he saw from that sender. It popped open, and Paige gasped. A graphic filled the screen, but there was nothing funny about what it was portraying or what was captioned.
He closed it, and Paige turned away, putting a hand to her stomach. “Necrophilia cartoons? It’s official. I’ve now seen everything.”
Zach proceeded to sort the inbox by sender and cringed at the number of e-mails from John Doe.
Another 235 to go.
No paycheck could compensate for this. These images would not only be burned into his retinas but forever seared into his memory.