Jemimah walked into Romero’s office, a stack of books in her arms. Clarissa greeted her with a knowing smile and pointed to the large cubicle in the corner, where Romero was retrieving a fax. He motioned her over. Jemimah paused to pour herself a cup of thick black coffee, then had second thoughts and dumped it into the sink.
“Hey, Rick. Thanks for making time for me. Thought I’d stop by and see if anything new has popped up on the case.” As much as she hated to admit it, she admired his skills as an investigator. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was about him that annoyed her so much.
“Still at square one,” he said. “Lots of tips, but nothing seems to pan out. Maybe we’re looking too hard.”
“I have a few theories, if you have a minute,” she said.
“Shoot.” He swallowed the last of his coffee and tossed the Styrofoam cup into the trash. He wanted to say how great she looked, but she’d probably take offense and go storming out. Still, she was beautiful.
“One of the last cases I worked in Texas involved a string of killings with a similar MO. It got me to thinking about that case. We might have a parallel situation here. Our perp seems to have a rage against women, based on the manner in which they were killed. Swiftly. Somewhere along the way, a woman took away his power, or possibly lost hers. So the killer was essentially recouping that power, leaving the victim helpless,” Jemimah said. “Do you follow?”
“Why did you say her?” Romero asked.
“For one reason: the victims died quickly without being tortured. A male killer generally takes pleasure in watching his victim suffer. He tortures them with the idea that if they give in to him, they might live. It’s just a theory. Most times, we assume serial killers are men.” Jemimah felt like a graduate student trying to impress her professor. She looked up. At least he was acting interested in what she had to say.
“I was leaning toward the ranch-hand being our killer,” Romero said. He pulled open a desk drawer and took out a pair of nail clippers. He put them back when she shot him an ‘are you interested or not’ look.
“Charlie Cooper? I don’t think so,” Jemimah said. “Charlie was a druggie, spent a lot of time stoned. Most druggies are incapable of serial killings. Requires too much forethought. Too much planning. They don’t have the ability to focus on that—they’re just interested in the momentary high, chasing the next one, or in whether they are going to run out of drugs too soon.”
He moved his chair closer to hers. She looked at him quizzically. “Go on, I’m listening.”
“From what I learned at the bar in Madrid, Charlie’s quite the womanizer, but he has a steady girlfriend—Brenda Mason. On and off for some time now. McCabe has seen her a few times, so I thought of asking him ...”
Clarissa interrupted, animatedly waving a sheet of paper. “Sorry to interrupt, Boss, but we’ve got a caller on the tip line. This barmaid says she might have information.”
Romero wheeled his chair behind his desk and reached for his the phone. “Hello. Detective Romero here.”
“Yes, hello. My name is Julie, and I work at the Mineshaft Tavern.” She sounded breathless.
“You’ve got some information for me?” Romero asked.
“Uh-huh, I read that Charlie Cooper’s body was found and that the police think he may be the one who murdered those women. Listen, Charlie was a nice man. He wouldn’t have done anything like that. He was gentle as a lamb.”
Her phone was breaking up. Romero put one hand over his ear to hear her better.
“So, what is it you want to tell me, Julie?” He looked over at Jemimah and raised his eyebrows.
“Some months ago, maybe in April, I was working late. Charlie’s girlfriend Brenda got into a nasty fight with one of the victims, I think her name was Linda—the one that lived with Bart Wolfe. Anyway, I was in one of the stalls in the bathroom and heard Brenda screaming at her. Told her that she’d better stay the hell away from Charlie or there would be hell to pay.”
Jemimah could see the expression on Romero’s face change. He was attentive and professional to the caller, waiting patiently for information, jotting it down on a yellow pad.
“Go on, Julie,” he said.
“So a few nights later, I see Charlie with Linda. They’re in the parking lot making out. A few hours go by, and Brenda comes in looking for Charlie. Someone tells her he left with Linda. Brenda gets all hysterical and starts screaming that she’s going to kill that bitch. And now she’s dead. That’s pretty much all I wanted to say,” she said.
“Thank you, Julie. You’ve been very helpful. Now let me ask you—has Brenda been in the bar lately?” Romero said.
“Yes, she was in yesterday. Wearing some really nice clothes and going on and on about buying a new car. She claimed she’d come into a lot of money. Didn’t even act sad about what happened to Charlie.”
Romero was beginning to think Jemimah might be right on.
“Julie, I’m going to send Dr. Hodge over to talk to you,” Romero said. “She’s profiling the killer for us. If Brenda happens to be there, I’d like you to point her out.”
“Sure will,” Julie said.
“Thank you, sweetheart. You’ve been a great help. Let me hand you back to Clarissa. Let her know your work schedule for the next week.” He waved Clarissa over.
Romero sat down and explained to Jemimah what the caller had said. “We need to look into this a little closer, in light of your theories about the possibility of a woman being our killer. You may have hit the nail right on the head.”
“I’m going over to see McCabe around noon,” Jemimah said. “I might bring him along. He’s been hankering to get involved, and this might be a good time to take advantage of his experience in law enforcement.”
Romero walked Jemimah to the door, careful to not brush against her, lest she conclude he was still interested.