14

Twenty-Three

T aylor and Baldwin sat close together, re-creating the past half hour. It was entirely possible that the man who’d been in Control this night, as well as the other nights, wasn’t their killer at all. But Taylor had felt something so malevolent, so horrid, emanating from him in that one brief moment that she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

A crime-scene tech had arrived quietly. If this was the haunt of their killer, they didn’t want to draw too much attention to the fact that they were closing in. The tech had gone over Sam’s arm carefully but got nothing. The man had paid for his beer with three one-dollar bills, all of which were confiscated for processing, but the odds of them actually finding some kind of DNA or prints that would be both usable and admissible in court were slim to none.

Jerry the bartender had proved worth his weight in gold. He’d positively identified each of the four women killed by the Snow White copycat. All four of them had been in the bar at one time or another. Finally, they had their staging area. Taylor hoped like hell she’d just caught a glimpse of their killer.

A police artist had been working with Sam and Jerry to create a composite, but the end result was too generic. It could be anyone. Their mystery man had nothing exceptional about him except a bad haircut, at least that either Jerry or Sam could recall.

Taylor was furious with herself. She had felt it, the malice that radiated off the man. She’d played the situation wrong. Maybe he’d seen her badge and gun and it scared him away. Maybe she was just imaging the whole thing, and the man she’d seen was just another patron. She was wound so tight, it wasn’t so far-fetched.

She was standing by the bar, aggravated as all get out, tempted to topple a pile of Amstel Lights, when the crime-scene tech shouted for her.

“Lieutenant? I’ve got something here.”

She went to the woman, a short, overweight brunette named Ricki with a sweet smile and an even sweeter disposition.

“Hey, Ricki, what do you have?”

She held up a mass of plastic. “Straws. All tied in knots.”

Taylor slipped on a latex glove and took the mass from Ricki. She flashed back to an image of the man, his hands loose between his knees. He might have been tying the straws then.

“This is perfect. Perfect. Thanks, Ricki. Bag this for me, okay? That’s going to be an important piece, so be careful with it, okay?”

“Gotcha, boss.”

“Hold up. What do you have there?” Baldwin came up to her, put an arm around her shoulders. Taylor smiled.

“Show him, Ricki.”

Baldwin looked closely at the clear plastic bag, now closed with red evidence tape. “Intricate.”

“You could say that. If they match up to the knots in the ropes we have in the lab, we might have something. Ricki, can you test them for trace, too? We’re looking for some more of that creamy substance found on the previous victims.

She turned to Baldwin, excitement making her heart pound. “Maybe. Maybe, maybe, maybe. Those knots are so different, so unique.”

“That they are. I can imagine a killer this precise using the knots as a tool, a pastime. Something so intricate takes practice.”

“Well, he was pissed when that chick came in and blew right past him. The guy that sat here is used to being admired, used to being fussed over. If it was the copycat, I’d bet we’re going to have another murder, and soon. How much lead time do you think he needs now?”

Baldwin looked at her, eyebrow raised. “We might make a profiler out of you yet. If he’s running on a certain timetable, we won’t know until we catch him. But if he’s just on a spree, he could take another, kill the one he’s got, whatever. He’s not thinking clearly, he’s upset. This doesn’t match up to the original profile of this killer being a meticulous planner. He’s already killed two today, three this week. If he’s not sated now, he never will be. He’s completely broken Snow White’s pattern. He’s working on his own now. He won’t just stop. We’re going to have to catch him or kill him.”

Taylor remembered the man’s silhouette, the tense way he took up space, and shuddered. “I’ll be happy to make that happen.”

They stayed at the bar for another hour, trying to act normal as the CS techs surreptitiously combed through the place. It was late, and Taylor was tired. When Baldwin offered to drive her home, she didn’t resist.

She let him tuck her into bed, accepted a kiss on the forehead, like a child just finished with a bedtime story.

As he was leaving the room, his hand on the light switch, she called to him, “I’m supposed to do some things tomorrow. Girl things. Sam things.”

“Wedding things?”

The quick bloom of panic in her chest when the word wedding was spoken made her feel stupid. This was silly. She could go toe to toe with killers, yet she was afraid to stand up in front of a crowd? Decision made, game, set, match.

“Yes. Wedding things.”

“So we’re on?”

“Come here.” He did as she asked, came back to the bed. She sat up, slid the covers down to her waist, and pulled him to her, hugging him hard.

“We’re on.”