Allison Brennan - Silenced

Did he reach over to the girl for her blood or take it from his knife?

The knife, Lucy guessed. The message faded near the end. He’d gone back to the knife-or body if Lucy’s hypothesis was inaccurate-three times, the blood thicker on the first Run, then on as, and finally on the last word can .

Each letter dripped down the slick surface, drying in long streaks.

Who are you talking to? Why this message? Are you engaging the police? Think you’re uncatchable? Or are you writing to someone else?

He’d changed the first rhyme slightly, but not the second rhyme.

Wendy James’s killer also left a message.

Not every killer left a deliberate message.

She’d thought about the similarities when she was at the morgue, but dismissed them.

Now, she couldn’t.

And this guilty whore don’t cry no more .

Not a children’s rhyme, but Lucy had an ear for languages and there was a very familiar rhythm to the message, it had the exact same beats as other common rhymes, but Lucy couldn’t pinpoint which one he’d used, if he’d done it on purpose.

“Kincaid!”

Genie stepped back into the room.

“Yes?” Whatever was in her head disappeared. She would go home and analyze the line structurally against popular children’s rhymes. But she was 90 percent certain that the man who killed Wendy James had killed Nicole Bellows and these three victims.

“I just spoke to the manager and security chief. We have an ID on two of the victims. Christopher Taylor and his wife Jocelyn.”

“And the girl in the bathroom?” She appeared too old to be their daughter.

“Unknown.”

“I want you to see something,” Lucy said.

Genie grimaced, but followed Lucy to the bathroom.

“There are two cell phones submersed in the sink.”

“I already made note of that. CSU will bag them, see if we can get anything off them.”

“Look at the victim’s arms,” Lucy said.

“Just tell me, Kincaid.”

Genie avoided looking at the girl. Lucy hadn’t pegged Genie as being squeamish, but yesterday the body had been removed by the time Lucy and Noah had arrived. Today’s crime scene was far more grisly.

“The girl was a cutter, though not recently.” Her arms, which floated on the surface of the bloody water, showed the telltale scars of a longtime cutter. Her hair was long and dyed bright red, the roots showing her to be a natural blonde. “But what’s more interesting are their belongings. Backpack, stuffed like an overnight bag. Toiletries-all for women. I don’t think the male victim was staying here.”

“Or he kept everything in a razor kit.”

Lucy looked around. “And put it back in his suitcase? I don’t know. But look at this backpack-it’s old, ratty, hardly worth keeping. Do you bring a backpack like that to a hotel like this?”

She pointed to a small, open tin that held three blue pills.

“These are unmarked. Look at the edge of the capsule-illegal lab, I think.”

Genie concurred. “Barbiturate?”

“Probably a benzodiazepine.” Lucy and Genie walked back to the main room. “Jocelyn Taylor was overkill, this victim was quickly killed. If she was drugged first-self or forced-it might explain the lack of fight.”

“Whatever it is, we have a bigger issue,” Genie said. “Taylor is the chief of staff to a newly elected congressman, Dale Hartline. His wife is a social worker for a nonprofit group. They live in Chevy Chase. Checked in here Tuesday before eight in the morning-paid extra for that privilege. But get this-security cams have five people in this room and next door.”

“Adjoining room?”

Genie jerked her finger toward a door on the far side. “Two double beds. The Taylors didn’t register any other guests and only asked for two room keys, but we definitely have five in here. Unfortunately, the security cameras only monitor the lobby and garage. But they’re having a shitload of problems with the feed-damn! I must be over five bucks by now.”

She continued. “If there was no message on the damn mirror, I would never have thought the Nicole Bellows case was connected to this, but now? It makes no sense. Cheap-ass motel, five-star hotel. Black street hooker, white congressional staffer. Maybe he was into kink? Maybe the dead girl in the bath is a hooker? Wife watches? Pimp gets pissed? Fuck if I can figure it out.”

Three dollars, seventy-five cents.

Lucy understood Genie’s frustration.

“Detective?” One of the CSU officer’s came from the adjoining room with a large plastic bag full of clothing.

“Tell me the killer left his clothes and his name is sewn on the label.”

He cracked a smile. “A couple T-shirts, tank tops, pajama bottoms. Found them in a drawer. They reek of smoke, and I’m not talking tobacco. Whoever wore these were in or near a fire.”

Genie ordered the cop monitoring the door, “Taback, find out if the Taylors had a fire at their house.”

The crime scene investigator interrupted. “Already checked. Negative.”

Genie threw her arms up. “Guess that would have been too easy. Check all structural fires in the city in the last seventy-two hours. See if there’s any reason that the Taylors or the girl in the bathroom could have been in any of those locations. Did we get the girl’s face into the database?”

“They’re running her through now-we can’t get prints because her body’s waterlogged, maybe the morgue can.”

Genie looked at Lucy. She shook her head. “Doubtful, but there are some computer programs that may be able to extrapolate. It really depends on what they have to start with.”

The investigator continued. “There’s evidence that the killer showered in the other bathroom. A towel with blood, a smear on the tile. We’re processing the room carefully hoping to get hair or fiber samples.”

“The killer showered?” Genie said.

Lucy said, “He had to. He stabbed three people to death. He’d have had a lot of blood on him, and even if he managed to elude the security cams, he wouldn’t want to be seen in bloody clothes.”

“So he showered, brought a change of clothes with him? That takes a lot of planning.”

“He didn’t shower at the Red Light Motel, maybe he realized he had more blood on him than he expected,” Lucy offered. “So he came better prepared this time.”

“Well shit.”

Four dollars.

“Coroner’s here,” announced the uniformed officer standing at the door.

“Send ’em in.”

To Lucy, Genie said, “Let’s go see if security fixed their technology screwup.” She paused. “‘Screwup’ isn’t a swear word.”

Lucy crowded into the small security office with Genie, two cops, the manager, and security chief. She stood near the back, barely able to see the laptop monitor on which the head of security had downloaded the tapes from the last twenty-four hours.

Genie gave a quick rundown on the timeline.

“Jocelyn Taylor checked in alone at eight A.M. Tuesday morning, but the reservation was made an hour earlier over the phone by her husband, Chris.”

Officer Taback added, “You said three girls were with her, correct?”

“Yes. After she checked in, she went back to the front, where we presume she got into her car and drove into the secured garage. Free parking if you’re a guest, just slide your room key into the kiosk. That was at eight ten in the morning.”

The security chief, Tom Wright, flipped the screen to a wide-angle garage shot. “The garage is hardwired into the system-it’s older than the hotel’s security system, more secure, but takes more people and space to maintain,” he said. “Mrs. Taylor parked near the elevator and three girls got out.”