Nicoletti walked directly into Marie-Justine’s bedroom. He scanned the top of the dressing table. The new bottle of Jivago was not there. Anne looked in the bathroom and in a few other places as he described to her what he had seen in Durbin’s home. Convinced the perfume was not to be found, they stopped their search and stood at the foot of the bed.
Nicoletti’s cell phone rang. Anne jumped, still unsettled by the thought of her own bedroom having an identical twin across town. Nicoletti had not told her about the neatly arranged bundles of hair or the women’s underwear he had found in Durbin’s guest room. Anne would demand they go to the police, and that was something Nicoletti did not intend to do, at least not yet.
The cell phone rang a second time.
“I found two,” Ken Palmer said.
“Two?”
“Yeah, two unsolved homicides of women. The first was a Realtor, late thirties, wealthy, very good-looking. Her husband reported her missing when she didn’t show up for a dinner party. Her car, a gold Lexus, was found two days later in the parking lot of a hotel on the north end of the Springs.
“The body was found about two months later in a wooded area near a rest stop on Interstate 25, about ten miles north. Heavy snow had covered the body, so there was minimal decomposition, minor animal damage.”
“Were there any suspects?”
“Getting to that,” Palmer said. “Seems the police focused on the husband, a local home builder with major bucks. She was cheating on him and the marriage was in the toilet. She had multiple lovers, all from the most prestigious country clubs, most of them married. I bet the damn investigation caused one hell of a social shitstorm.
“Anyway, the investigation was on the front burner as the cops chased the husband and the boyfriends for about six months. There were a hundred other leads, mostly coming from acquaintances and co-workers—you know, the usual kind of stuff that’s generated by petty jealousies. With her money, good looks, and success, I bet they were lining up to share their dirty little rumors. Nothing came of any of it and pretty soon the leads dried up completely.”
“Anything in the files tie her to Durbin?”
“Now, don’t get too far out ahead of me, old buddy. I found a copy of her day planner that the cops had in a cardboard box in the basement of the PD. It showed that she scheduled regular hair appointments at the Broadmoor Hotel during the time your little creep worked there.”
Nicoletti realized he was alone in the bedroom. He found Anne seated at the kitchen table. She was pale and appeared startled by the sound of his voice.
“What about physical evidence?”
“Nothing recovered at the dump site or from the victim’s car.”
“Manner of death?” Nicoletti could hear Palmer flipping through pages of notes.
“Strangulation by ligature, which was described as approximately one-half-inch wide and about one-eighth inch thick, probably woven nylon. Her skin was pinched at the back of her neck. No marks other than scratches on her neck, which were attributed to her own nails as she tried to pull at the ligature.
“No indication of rape. No DNA recovered. I couldn’t tell from the crime scene photos if she had any excessive makeup like you were looking for. Her hair was a mess, but in the evidence, I did find one of those plastic hair combs that could have been used to pull her hair to the side. It was spray-painted silver, but the paint was flaking off. And before you ask, yeah, the panties were missing from the recovered body.”
“What was the other one? You said ‘two’.” Nicoletti sat across from Anne. She did not look at him.
“The second one occurred a month after the Realtor disappeared. This one was younger, twenty-three. She lived north of the Springs in El Paso County. Her body was found in a mountainous area where a lot of high school kids go camping, which is a local euphemism for drinking and smoking dope. She had short dark hair, but otherwise was similar to the woman in the swimming pool I told you about: five foot six, long legs, tiny waist, full breasted, pretty face, full lips. Her father was a light colonel assigned to Fort Carson here in the Springs.
“Sheriff’s investigators said the old man took it really hard. She was his only child, a tomboy but still Daddy’s little girl, I guess.” Palmer hesitated.
Nicoletti was sure both he and Palmer were thinking of their own daughters.
“She was a part-time singer… no steady boyfriends,” Palmer continued. “She associated mostly with musicians… kept a lot of late nights… often gone two or three days at a time without telling anyone. If the killer hadn’t dumped her near that camping area, no telling how long it would have been before someone noticed she was missing.”
“How was she killed?”
“Strangulation. Manual. Killer wore gloves. None of that makeup shit or hair combing like the others. This girl was beat pretty bad. Her face was bloody and she had bruises on her arms and knuckles. Deputies said she must’ve put up one hell of a fight. There were blood samples recovered that did not match the victim, but there were no DNA matches in the system.
“They did find a head wound. The coroner said she was hit with a blunt object, rounded at the top and tapered toward the base. There was an impression of stitching at the edge of the wound. They guessed it was some type of lead-weighted blackjack or sap—you know, like we used to carry, kind of spring-loaded with the braided leather strap. No bigger than your thumb, but if you snap it just right, you can split a guy’s head open like a melon.”
“Did she have any connection to the Broadmoor?”
“No, none that I could find. I didn’t ask.”
“It sure as hell would help.”
“Well, it ain’t a perfect world, Nico.” Palmer sounded like he was about done. “Oh yeah, on the body, they found fibers matching her carpet and some cat hair that matched her cat.”
“She had a cat?” Nicoletti stood up.
“Yeah, one of those Siamese type cats. There was a picture of it in the victim’s wallet.”
“Palmer, I want you to find every veterinarian and pet groomer she ever took that cat to. And then check to see if Durbin was connected to any of them.”
“Can do,” Palmer said. “Hey, you want me to write this stuff up in some kind of report? I’ve got all the case numbers and detectives’ names, evidence lists… the whole shooting match.”
“No, don’t worry about that.”
“It’s no trouble. I could bang one out tonight and mail it to you tomorrow.”
“I don’t need any reports. What you’ve told me is enough for now.”
Palmer was quiet for a moment. “Nico, are you working with the police on this?”
“Not exactly.”
“You better be careful, pal.”
“Just get me the information and don’t worry.”
“I’ll keep all these notes, just in case you change your mind.”
“I don’t plan on changing my mind. Call me as soon as you get anything.”
“I’m on my way out the door, buddy.”