glance.
“This killer’s piqueristic, fascinated by knives. The coroner will be the final judge, but from the bleeding, my guess is that they were still alive. The SOB tortured them, most likely using the same weapon he used to slit her throat.”
“So?” Nelson said. “He enjoys his work. So what?”
“That knife is his preferred weapon. He carries it with him. When you find him, he’ll have the knife on him,” I said. “The gun is an afterthought. My guess is he picked it up on the scene like the fishing line and the ties. You might even find it abandoned in the house. He doesn’t care about it.”
Captain Williams glanced at Nelson.
“We found a 9mm pistol, wiped clean of prints but recently fired, on a table in the den,” Nelson said. “We’re thinking it’s the murder weapon.”
“And it belonged to Lucas not the killer?” I speculated.
The captain nodded. “There’s also an empty gun box with Lucas’s name engraved on it. And this is odd, blood traces around the shower drain.”
“He didn’t wash the bodies,” I said, looking again at the bloody scene and considering the possibilities. “The guy showered?”
“Maybe, but if he did he cleaned up. Not a trace of anything left,” the captain said. “This guy was careful.”
“To take down two victims at once, he’s had practice. He was sure of himself. He didn’t run. He watched them, targeted one or both well before the killings, followed them until he knew their habits. He knew they wouldn’t be interrupted. He took his time and enjoyed the killing, then afterward…” The film playing in my mind wrenched my gut tighter, and I felt suddenly ill.
“So our guy has balls.” Nelson shrugged. “So what?”
I visualized them in the room, the terrified couple tied to the bed, begging for their lives, while the shadowy killer lurked in the background.
“What about other physical evidence?” I asked. “Anything we can use from forensics?”
“The maid comes three times a week, even if the family’s not around. She was here yesterday, so there aren’t many. We’ll have a report by the end of the day,” said the captain, frowning. “There are so few, my guess is our killer wore gloves.”
“Which proves my point,” Nelson said, smugly. “He’s a pro.”
“Think about it,” I challenged. “What kind of hit man counts on finding a gun at the scene? He didn’t even bring his own rope to tie them up.”
For a moment, Nelson appeared to reconsider, but then he smiled. “Maybe the wife told him there’d be a gun and where to find it.”
“This isn’t about money,” I said, turning from Nelson to the captain. “This guy gets off slicing people up. This wasn’t personal. It wasn’t work. It was about power, control, obsession, and, maybe most of all, pleasure.”
The captain took off his hat and scratched his temples, vainly attempting to repair the ear-to-ear indentation the Stetson left behind. Gray had been taking over in the past few years, and I’d noticed he’d started cutting his hair shorter. “You’ve got to admit, we’ve got a murdered husband and his mistress, you’ve got to like the wife at least enough to give her a close look,” he said.
“That’s all I’m saying, Captain,” Nelson said.
I looked at the detective and frowned. This was going to be a long day.
“I’m not suggesting that it’s impossible that you’re right, Detective. None of us knows enough yet to throw out any theory,” I said. “But the captain wanted my impression, and it’s that Lucas and this woman had the misfortune of running into a seriously twisted killer, one who enjoys slicing people up.”
“So we can agree that this is just your opinion, and that I’m entitled to a different one?” Nelson asked. I couldn’t help but consider that perhaps this case wouldn’t be a fresh start for us. I might have to live with the prospect that Detective O. L. Nelson and I would never be best friends.
“Of
“This killer’s piqueristic, fascinated by knives. The coroner will be the final judge, but from the bleeding, my guess is that they were still alive. The SOB tortured them, most likely using the same weapon he used to slit her throat.”
“So?” Nelson said. “He enjoys his work. So what?”
“That knife is his preferred weapon. He carries it with him. When you find him, he’ll have the knife on him,” I said. “The gun is an afterthought. My guess is he picked it up on the scene like the fishing line and the ties. You might even find it abandoned in the house. He doesn’t care about it.”
Captain Williams glanced at Nelson.
“We found a 9mm pistol, wiped clean of prints but recently fired, on a table in the den,” Nelson said. “We’re thinking it’s the murder weapon.”
“And it belonged to Lucas not the killer?” I speculated.
The captain nodded. “There’s also an empty gun box with Lucas’s name engraved on it. And this is odd, blood traces around the shower drain.”
“He didn’t wash the bodies,” I said, looking again at the bloody scene and considering the possibilities. “The guy showered?”
“Maybe, but if he did he cleaned up. Not a trace of anything left,” the captain said. “This guy was careful.”
“To take down two victims at once, he’s had practice. He was sure of himself. He didn’t run. He watched them, targeted one or both well before the killings, followed them until he knew their habits. He knew they wouldn’t be interrupted. He took his time and enjoyed the killing, then afterward…” The film playing in my mind wrenched my gut tighter, and I felt suddenly ill.
“So our guy has balls.” Nelson shrugged. “So what?”
I visualized them in the room, the terrified couple tied to the bed, begging for their lives, while the shadowy killer lurked in the background.
“What about other physical evidence?” I asked. “Anything we can use from forensics?”
“The maid comes three times a week, even if the family’s not around. She was here yesterday, so there aren’t many. We’ll have a report by the end of the day,” said the captain, frowning. “There are so few, my guess is our killer wore gloves.”
“Which proves my point,” Nelson said, smugly. “He’s a pro.”
“Think about it,” I challenged. “What kind of hit man counts on finding a gun at the scene? He didn’t even bring his own rope to tie them up.”
For a moment, Nelson appeared to reconsider, but then he smiled. “Maybe the wife told him there’d be a gun and where to find it.”
“This isn’t about money,” I said, turning from Nelson to the captain. “This guy gets off slicing people up. This wasn’t personal. It wasn’t work. It was about power, control, obsession, and, maybe most of all, pleasure.”
The captain took off his hat and scratched his temples, vainly attempting to repair the ear-to-ear indentation the Stetson left behind. Gray had been taking over in the past few years, and I’d noticed he’d started cutting his hair shorter. “You’ve got to admit, we’ve got a murdered husband and his mistress, you’ve got to like the wife at least enough to give her a close look,” he said.
“That’s all I’m saying, Captain,” Nelson said.
I looked at the detective and frowned. This was going to be a long day.
“I’m not suggesting that it’s impossible that you’re right, Detective. None of us knows enough yet to throw out any theory,” I said. “But the captain wanted my impression, and it’s that Lucas and this woman had the misfortune of running into a seriously twisted killer, one who enjoys slicing people up.”
“So we can agree that this is just your opinion, and that I’m entitled to a different one?” Nelson asked. I couldn’t help but consider that perhaps this case wouldn’t be a fresh start for us. I might have to live with the prospect that Detective O. L. Nelson and I would never be best friends.
“Of
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