Shield of Justice Read Free Page A

perp. He’s a secretor—blood type, A-positive. I tried to goose the lab guys for more, but they’re complaining about being swamped with stuff from that apartment fire. They say it looks like it might be arson. The earliest they’ll have the semen analysis will be sometime tomorrow morning. Emergency room docs confirm she was sodomized, though, just like with the first two.”
    Rebecca took a deep swallow of her coffee, wincing at the cardboard aftertaste. “Yeah, well, the rest of it fits our guy’s pattern, too. A jogger again. Same time of day—early evening, not yet dark. The location’s no help, though; there’re miles of park along the river. Nothing stands out about this particular place.”
    Jeff slumped into the hard seat beside her, shaking his head. “Something’s funny, Reb. The park is
always
crowded—kids on bikes, runners, not to mention cops—and nobody sees nothing. Nobody notices anyone just hanging around or in a hurry to get somewhere. He just comes and goes without a trace.” He laughed sourly at his own joke.
    Rebecca shook her head, as frustrated as her partner. “There’s a lot of brush along those trails, Jeff. Once he grabs someone, he can just pull her off into the scrub. Then they’re invisible. Christ, we didn’t even find the first body for three days.”
    She had been to her captain twice in the last few weeks, pleading for extra patrols to stake out the dense parkland bordering River Drive, a six-mile stretch of twisting highway along the river that bisected the city. His answer had been the same each time—yes, this was a nasty crime; yes, he cared about catching the son of a bitch; and, no, he couldn’t spare the people to beef up surveillance. They had to do the best they could with what they had, and Rebecca was haunted by the knowledge that it wasn’t enough.
    “Well,
he’s
still got to get in and out,” Jeff observed. “He probably parks somewhere and goes in on foot or maybe on a bicycle. Someone has to have seen him. With this warm weather, there’s even more people around.”
    “Maybe somebody
did
see something—maybe it was Janet Ryan.”
    He sighed deeply, leaned his head back against the rim of the plastic seat, and closed his eyes. “Maybe.”
    “There’s something we’re missing, Jeff, I agree with you,” Rebecca mused aloud, not even sure if Jeff was awake. “Serial criminals—rapists, murderers—they follow a pattern. At least a pattern that makes sense to them. We just have to find it.”
    “You’re probably right,” Jeff answered, his eyes still closed. “But whatever it is, it isn’t simple. Different days of the week, no set time interval, no physical resemblance between the victims, and nothing symbolic left behind.”
    “We should cross-check the victim profiles again. Resubmit the data to VICAP at the FBI, too,” Rebecca said, knowing it had to be done but secretly doubting it would help. The crimes had a random feel to them. “We have three now; maybe we’ll turn up an association we missed the first time. Maybe they all go to the same health club, or the same grocery store, or the same friggin’ dry cleaners. Maybe he knows them. Maybe he stalks them.”
    “Maybe,” Jeff murmured again, envisioning the next few days.
More canvassing, more interviews, re-interviews, more computer spreadsheets. Wonderful.
He sat up and checked his watch—almost the witching hour.
Jesus, I’m tired.
“Did you get anything out of the shrink?”
    “Still waiting. She’s in there with the witness now.”
    Jeff stood and walked to the double doors marked Hospital Personnel Only and craned his neck to see through the small windows. “That her by the first bed?”
    Rebecca followed him and glanced inside. The psychiatrist was leaning down, holding the hand of the woman in the bed nearest to the doors. “Yes.”
    “Nice,” Cruz remarked absently. “Who’s the other one—blond, early twenties, good body?”
    “The roommate, I think. I