Arn stopped the videotape of Butch’s crime scene. He’d watched it a half-dozen times, but nothing jumped out that wasn’t noted in the police reports. He ejected the tape from the obsolete VCR Danny had “acquired” somewhere and turned to the white wall. He stood studying the photos of the three officers pinned beside those of the Five Point Killer’s victims, his mind playing with the variables. And with the constants.
Danny pulled up a chair and set his coffee cup on the makeshift table. “Let’s see what we can brainstorm this morning.”
“This doesn’t concern you.”
“A fresh set of eyes can help, if I recall you saying that,” Danny said. “And as many times as we’ve both seen them, our eyes are getting a little weary. But let’s try it again.”
“Don’t you have drywall to hang?”
Danny looked sideways at Arn. “I would if someone else in this house would help me. But right this moment, I’m on break.” He rested his elbows on the table and leaned to look at the white wall. “So what we got?”
Arn sighed. “Both Five Point murders were committed in late summer, but a year apart.”
“Damn,” Danny said. “I never noticed that.”
“That’s why I’m a PI and you’re a sidekick.” Arn munched on a cookie from the plate Danny brought. “I thought it might be someone whose business slows down after the summer: bricklayer. Construction worker.”
Danny leaned back in his chair sipping coffee. “Maybe the killer was a teacher. School janitor. Someone who’s gone for the summer.”
“Or a student just returning from living with a custodial parent away from Cheyenne.”
“Can you see some kid overpowering grown men?” Danny leaned back and caught Arn staring at the dog biscuit Danny gnawed on. “I just finished walking the neighbor’s dog. It was a leftover treat.”
Arn dropped his pen on the door. “No one reported anyone suspicious walking away from either crime scene. And again, with that much blood, the killer would have been covered in it.” Arn had read in one police report that two patrolmen responding to Delbert Urban’s homicide had puked the moment they saw the amount of blood covering the office. “Delbert Urban especially, killed in the middle of a business district in the afternoon. Why?”
“Beats me.”
“What are sidekicks for?”
“Okay.” Danny stood and walked to the white wall, looking at the photos from a different angle. “Maybe the victim showered before coming out. Does the Hobby Shop have a shower?”
Arn made a note to ask Oblanski if the Hobby Shop had a shower. And if it or Joey Bent’s house was checked for blood in the drain. “Good idea.”
“That’s what sidekicks are for.”
Arn sifted through Butch’s field notes and located one he found interesting. “An angle that Butch and Gaylord were working was that both victims were killed by prostitutes.”
“Because both were almost nude?”
Arn nodded. “Cheyenne’s not exactly the mecca for street flesh. Where would someone find a hooker around here?”
Danny laid his hand on Arn’s forearm. “You’re good-looking enough you don’t have to pay.”
Arn jerked his arm back.
“All right,” Danny said. “But do you want male or female?”
“With someone as fat as Delbert Urban, and effeminate as Joey Bent, I’m leaning toward male. Especially with that NAMBLA letter at Delbert’s.”
“I agree. We’ll take a drive by a place in a little bit that used to cater to gays when they were open. But break’s over. I got to get back to taping drywall.”
Danny had just risen to leave when Arn stopped him. “Thanks for hanging that new door. The place is shaping up. Just wondered where you learned your home improvement.”
Danny faced him and rested his hand on his thin hips. “Home improvement? Try old world craftsmanship. I wasn’t always a derelict.”
“You’re not one now.”
“Thanks,” Danny said and nodded to the photos on the white wall. “One other thing: the media at the time also called this guy the Full Moon Killer, as both victims were killed under a full moon. Think that’s just coincidence?”
Arn walked to the white wall and put his reading glasses on. He could almost feel the knife rip into soft flesh; feel sticky blood spurting over the victims, the cast-off blood spattering the walls and floor. He could hear bones break, lungs filling with fluid to snuff out life before their time. He could smell the stench of rancid blood and putrid feces as they died.
“That SOB didn’t do anything by coincidence. He planned it that way,” he said. When he was a young officer, Arn’s shift sergeant had warned his men to be especially vigilant during full moons. And it was true. People did crazy things during a full moon.
He started gathering the police reports and then whirled around. “There!” He slapped Delbert Urban’s picture. “That’s where I saw that shoe print before.” Arn scrambled to look through Gaylord’s case file. He tossed a picture in the center of the door. “Right there! It’s the same print.”
Danny squinted and put on his own glasses. “I don’t see any shoe print.”
Arn traced a single, faint shoe print found in the mud in front of Gaylord’s house the afternoon Adelle found him hanging. “There’s no mention of this print in any police report.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning Oblanski was the first officer on scene and secured it until Butch arrived. Yet Oblanski made no mention of it.”
“Because another officer put it there?”
“Or because he didn’t think it was germane to the case.” He held Gaylord’s photo next to Delbert Urban’s. “The same tread pattern outside Gaylord’s house is on Delbert Urban’s back.”
“I’ve seen it, too.” Danny pocketed his glasses and backed away, his lips quivering. “You remember that morning you lost your slippers? That shoe print”—he nodded to the photo of Gaylord’s house—“was in the drywall dust right outside your room.” He laid his hand on Arn’s shoulder to steady his trembling legs. “I thought it was yours. Maybe you’re right. Maybe the Five Point Killer has returned.”
Arn pried Danny’s hand from his shoulder. “And maybe Gaylord’s hanging wasn’t autoerotic after all.”