Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“Okay, that makes more sense. If he was simply a deserter they’d probably have been satisfied with positive identification and the coroner’s report.”

“Price is the third in a string of murders with the same M.O. Two dead men in two other states killed by the same people.”

“There’s more than one killer?”

“Evidence suggests there were at least two on scene.”

“How common are serial killers working in pairs?”

“Not rare, but not common. There’ve been several high-profile cases-the Hillside Stranglers; several male-female partnerships, where the woman lures the victim into the trap; Bittaker and Norris, who were prison buddies and started a killing spree when they got out. There’s usually a dominant and submissive- Why am I telling you this?”

“It’s interesting.”

“You don’t need me to teach you Forensic Profiling 101,” Megan said.

“I don’t usually draw such violent cases.”

It was Megan’s turn to laugh. “Perhaps not serial murderers, but don’t forget I’ve known you for a long time.”

“I could never forget that,” he said, perhaps too seriously, or maybe because Megan was on pins and needles. “What would you like me to do?”

“If I can’t get the evidence back, do you think you can find out what’s going on? I am particularly interested in the autopsy report and any trace evidence report. The Sacramento Police Department isn’t letting go; the detective in charge is digging into the victim’s background, his last few weeks, trying to put together some sort of victimology profile, plus following up on one lead we had before the CID took our case. But without the autopsy report, a weapon analysis, and a comparison of the needle marks with the previous victims, it’ll be hard to tie him into the other two murders. I need to be sure we’re dealing with the same killer, or the joint investigation could be compromised.”

“Why? If you have two other victims, why is this one so important?”

“If there are three known victims attributed to the same killer, where the M.O. is similar and there is a cooling off period, that puts these killers into the serial murderer category and they’re most likely to kill again. It frees up staff and resources at the federal level, and when we’re competing with other, higher-priority squads like counterterrorism and counterintelligence-”

“Say no more. I know someone at the DOD. Let me see what I can find out. What information do you have on the victim?”

Megan shared everything she knew, and thanked J.T. She felt immensely better knowing that she was at least working the case.

Her BlackBerry rang and it was an out-of-state number. She took the call.

The caller had a Texas drawl, definitely southern with a slight accent that sounded Hispanic. “Miz Elliott? This is Detective Jose Vasquez with the Austin Police Department. To what honor do I owe speaking with the FBI?”

Megan couldn’t tell if Vasquez was being sarcastic or not. Her office had a terrific relationship with local law enforcement; other regional divisions didn’t. She glanced at her watch. It was after eight in the evening, putting Vasquez in Texas two hours later.

“Working late,” she said.

“So are you.”

Okay, no small talk. “I’m working with Sacramento Police Detective John Black. He told me he spoke with you briefly yesterday about a homicide two months ago in your jurisdiction.”

“Yes. He had a similar M.O. And the FBI is involved?”

“Three cases, similar M.O.s, and Black called me in early. We’ve worked together before.”

“What do you need to know?”

“My victim was in the military. Army. I’m trying to track down any connection among the three victims, but so far other than their gender, that they lived alone, and were roughly middle-age, we have nothing.”

“I sent Detective Black a copy of our files.”

She’d read them. “There was nothing about a military record. Did you run a check?”

“No need to. I didn’t see anything in the house-well, he had a POW sticker on his truck. Lotta people have them.”

“I need his Social Security number to look up his records through the online military personnel system.” She’d put in the name and current address, but that wasn’t enough. “I have a copy of the autopsy report, but it’s a fax of a copy and the numbers are unclear.” She’d been surprised they were handwritten. Most records were typed or computer-generated now.

He rattled off the number. She wrote it down, then logged into the online military database and typed in the search parameters. She couldn’t access detailed records without a specific request that needed to be approved by the military, but she could pull up basic information like name, rank, last-known address, and status.

“What do you think is happening here? As I told Detective Black, the trail went cold mighty quick. No witnesses, no other like crimes. Our lab has been going over trace fibers, but so far nothing we can use. I was thinking revenge.”

“Revenge?”

“Oh, yeah. Guy was hamstrung then had all these needle marks. Couldn’t see them until the autopsy. Reggie, the coroner, called me in to see them, he didn’t believe it. Hundreds under the skin, but a needle so thin it didn’t leave a visible mark unless you looked real close.”

“Revenge?” It didn’t make sense on the surface, but it felt like that to her. Personal. She cringed. She was beginning to sound a lot like her ex-husband. She preferred dealing with facts. The fact was that there was no evidence of revenge, unless she could find a specific connection among the three victims, something more specific than the possibility that they were all military.

She asked, “In your investigation, did you come up with a connection to Dennis Perry, the mechanic in Las Vegas?”

“Name ain’t familiar ‘cept from the hot sheet. When I saw it, I went through my notes. Name didn’t come up. Wish I could be more help.”

Her records search online was complete. She couldn’t suppress the excitement in her voice as she said, “Detective, I think we have our connection. Johnson was in the U.S. Army from 1986 to 2006, honorably discharged. Price was in the U.S. Army from 1978 to 2004, when he went AWOL.”

“That’s near a twenty-year overlap.”

“But it’s something I didn’t have before, and maybe Dennis Perry’s records can narrow it down further. Thank you for your help.”

“Call me if you need anything else. Keep me informed, all right?”

“I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, Megan had Perry’s service record and now a nine-year window-Perry was in the army from 1995 to 2005.

She grinned tightly. She had something! A slim thread, but it was more than she’d had this morning.

She picked up her phone to call Detective Black when her BlackBerry trilled again. She answered, “I was just about to call you.”

“The security tapes came in. Completely worthless.”

“Why?”

“Someone blocked the signal from seven p.m. until three a.m.”

“And no one noticed?”

“No one monitors the cameras. They operate automatically, more as a deterrent than anything else. And if someone gets his car vandalized, he can get a person on tape. But for practical or preventive security? Worthless.”

“Dammit,” she muttered. “What about the van?”

“Not on the camera before seven. That gave them an hour to drive in and disappear before security came through.”

“All tapes? Even the stairwells?”

“It’s all the same system. So what did you want to tell me?”

“I have a connection among the three victims.” She told him about their U.S. Army records.

“Were they stationed together?” he asked, excited.