The Executioner

Sixty-One

Garcia and Hopkins exchanged a quick, uneasy look. Skid Row was still blasting through the speakers at Footsie’s.

‘If the bodies have been found, what happened to the numbers?’ Garcia tapped the evidence bags with his index finger.

Hunter pointed to the picture of the first victim and the number one on its back. ‘Have a look at the way the killer wrote this number. Anything peculiar?’

Garcia and Hopkins studied it for a moment.

‘It’s very simplistic,’ Garcia admitted. ‘There’s no horizontal base line or anything. This is really nothing more than a single vertical line.’

‘Holy shit!’ Hopkins exclaimed. ‘He’s right. On a body this would’ve looked like a simple splash of blood. Anyone could’ve missed it.’

‘OK, that might explain number one,’ Garcia said, dragging the next picture to the center of the table. ‘How about number two?’

Hunter shook his head as if anything was possible. ‘Maybe the number washed off.’

‘What?’ Garcia and Hopkins asked in unison.

The brunette returned to the jukebox and this time her stare lingered on Hunter for several seconds before she followed it with a sparkling smile. Bon Jovi started playing.

‘The killer doesn’t carve the numbers onto the victims; he uses blood to draw them.’ Hunter explained, leaning forward. ‘What if victim two was left in a humid or unsheltered place, like the woods? What if something happened after he left the body that smudged the number?’

Garcia and Hopkins looked thoughtful.

‘Rain would’ve easily washed the number off, or at least enough for it to be unrecognizable,’ Hopkins admitted.

‘And it’s been raining a hell of a lot lately,’ Garcia noted.

Hunter checked his watch. ‘I’ll get this to forensics and get you digital copies of the photos,’ he said to Hopkins. ‘I want you to run a search against the Missing Persons and the Homicide databases.’

‘Damn!’ Hopkins slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘That reminds me. You were right on the money when you suggested starting the missing person’s search for the Monica girl with Pennsylvania.’ He handed Hunter a black and white photograph printout. ‘This is what I got from the Pennsylvania Missing Persons archive.’

Hunter and Garcia analyzed the photo for just a few seconds.

‘Wow,’ Garcia said. ‘With the exception of her hair and that scar on her lips, she hasn’t changed much at all. Unless she’s got an identical twin.’

‘Not the case here,’ Hopkins confirmed, handing them a new sheet of paper.

The girl on the photo was Mollie Woods, born on Christmas Day, seventeen years ago in Huntingdon County, Pennsylvania. She’s been missing for almost four years. Her father, John Woods, reported her missing two days after her mother was run over by a drunk driver. She died instantly. John Woods moved from Huntingdon County to York, still in Pennsylvania, shortly after his wife’s death.

‘I haven’t tried to contact her father yet,’ Hopkins said as Hunter finished reading the report.

‘Don’t. At least not yet,’ he agreed.

Garcia looked concerned. ‘Don’t you think we should? He’s probably worried sick about his daughter. It’s been almost four years.’

‘There’s a reason why she ran away from home.’ Hunter gave Garcia a quick head shake. ‘She’s seventeen. If she wanted to get in touch with her father, she would’ve done it herself. In the interrogation room, I got a feeling she was really scared of something. And it wasn’t just her visions.’