The Seventh Victim Read Free

they’d seen hard labor and smooth skin unmarked by the hard Texas sun. “She can’t be much more than twenty.”
    “That’s my guess,” Melinda said.
    “Any identification?”
    “None that I’ve found. But we’ll roll her prints as soon as she gets to the medical examiner’s office.”
    Prints were no guarantee of identification. If she wasn’t in the Automated Fingerprints System known as AFIS, they’d start digging through missing persons reports. “Any signs of bruising or wounds on her face or arms?”
    A warm wind skidded across the grass, teasing the hem of the victim’s white skirt. Her almost peaceful features mocked what had to have been terrifying last minutes.
    Beck flexed his gloved fingers as he stared at the woman. “Is she clenching something in her right hand?”
    “I think so,” Melinda said. “I’ll be getting to it soon enough.”
    “I don’t want to rush your process, but when you open that hand let me know what you find.” Again a vague memory pestered.
    Beck rose, thanked Melinda, and turned to Santos. A muscle in the back of Beck’s neck tensed as it did when he grabbed for a memory out of his reach. “Why does this case feel familiar?”
    “Bugging the hell out of me, too,” Santos said.
    Beck rested hands on hips as he mentally shuffled through old case files. Strangulation. White dresses. Blond females. And then the memory hit. “Remember the Seattle murders six or seven years ago?”
    Santos rubbed his chin. “I do. I was still with DPS then. The press called him the ... Seattle Strangler.”
    As mental gates opened, the memories flooded. “Six women were strangled and all were wearing white. Each had a penny in her hand.” The penny detail had never been released to the public but Beck had heard about it through police channels.
    Santos nodded. “Good memory.”
    “He caused a panic in Seattle. I read about it in some report, but when the case went cold, it was pushed to the back burner.”
    “The guy ever caught?”
    “From what I remember, no. His last victim survived. The killer went dark, and I heard all kinds of theories. He was jailed. Died. Moved on. Lost his nerve.”
    “What happened to the last victim?” Santos said.
    “A passing motorist interrupted the attack.” Beck dug deeper. “The surviving victim claimed no memory of the assault.”
    Santos glanced toward the victim splayed in the dirt. “San Antonio victim’s bones were bleached white and scattered by the animals. We don’t know how she died. And a penny didn’t turn up during the search.”
    “No one was looking for it.”
    “True. And if the killer left a penny, we had a hell of a storm last month that likely washed it away.”
    As Santos turned to respond to a question from a DPS officer, Beck shoved out a breath and turned back toward the body. “Melinda, would you do me a favor and have a look inside that gal’s hand? Mighty important.”
    She nodded and squatted by the clenched hand. Carefully, she peeled back fingers stiffening with rigor mortis. As she raised her camera to photograph her discovery, she said, “There’s a penny.”
    Beck leaned closer. “You sure about that?”
    “Very.” She snapped dozens more pictures.
    Beck called Santos over and pointed to the victim’s hand.
    Santos took one look at the penny and swore. “This nut might have resurfaced in Texas?”
    “Or a copycat.” Beck rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He’d need all the information San Antonio had on the first victim and an identity on this victim quickly.
    “These cases could stir up a hornet’s nest,” Santos said.
    “I believe you are right.”
    Melinda bagged the penny in a small zip-top evidence bag. “Beck, I’ll pass it on to the medical examiner in Austin.”
    “Thanks, Melinda. Appreciate that.” Beck turned to Santos. “I’ve got to get situated in the office, and then I’ll swing by the medical examiner’s office. I want to be there for the autopsy.” He’d