Kevin Guilfoile - Cast Of Shadows

Mickey had seen the anti-clone pansy before, as well. The liberal networks always brought him out to speak for the opposition because they wanted to make anti-cloners look ineffectual. He had a red beard that covered a weak chin, and he wore bad makeup and sweated a lot. He sent his best wishes to the Moore family and said his organization condemned violence and wished the police would bring the criminals responsible for this shooting to justice. Mickey hated this fellow, who cared more about politics than morality. Mickey wasn’t anti-cloning, he was pro-God, and he wanted to show the world that God’s warriors were strong. He didn’t believe that might made right, but rather that the righteous were mighty and the scientists and the feminists and other soldiers of sin would need more than the backing of the Supreme Court and the complicity of the news media to force the surrender of good people. Mickey had a gun and goodwill and a visa stamped by God’s hand that would allow him free passage anywhere the Lord’s work called him.

Phil and the others would be watching the news back at the church now. Mickey wanted to call them, but they had a rule against that. The feds knew about the Hands of God. They’d be watching the phone traffic. Mickey the Gerund didn’t make stupid mistakes.

He opened an atlas on the bed and began charting his way toward the next target. He’d driven miles out of his way tonight, but that was part of his strategy. Mickey had steered to the expressway, pulled on in a random direction, and driven until he was too tired to stay on the road. If he didn’t plan his getaway ahead of time, it would be harder for any fed profiler who tried to get inside his mind to catch up with him, impossible to predict his next move.

He’d stay another day in Minnesota to relax. Do some reading. Maybe find a place in the woods where he could take some unscheduled target practice. Obviously he needed it.

Then on to Denver.

LOCAL WOMAN SLAIN AT OAK STREET STORE

Staff report, Northwood Life

Police are investigating the brutal rape and strangulation of a woman found slain at the Gap store on Oak Street in downtown Northwood late Wednesday.

Anna Katherine Moore, 17, was found dead shortly after 12 a.m. at the clothing store, where she worked as assistant manager.

Sgt. L. C. Clayton of the Northwood Police Department confirmed Thursday that Moore’s body was discovered by the store manager, Lisa Stephens, after she received a call from the victim’s parents, who became concerned when their daughter didn’t return home from work. Moore had been beaten and strangled and there was possible evidence of sexual assault, sources say.

Investigators believe the attack occurred shortly after 8:45 p.m., when Moore sent two other clerks home in advance of a coming snowstorm.

“She had told these individuals that she was going to lock up and head straight home,” Clayton said. “Obviously someone stopped her.”

Police hope to be able to say more over the next few days as to who might be responsible. “Our detectives are continuing to interview people in an attempt to identify suspects,” police spokeswoman Donna Bartlett said.

Moore, who would have graduated in June from Northwood East High School, had worked part time at the store for less than a year. She was planning to attend the University of Illinois in the fall, where she hoped to major in psychology, Stephens said.

Moore was the only daughter of Dr. Davis and Jacqueline Moore of Northwood. Her father, a partner at the New Tech Fertility Clinic on Sheridan Road, was wounded in a shooting incident last year. Police say there is no evidence of a connection between the incidents.

On Thursday, the store remained closed, the sidewalks and entrances fenced in with crime scene tape, as police searched for clues. Individuals who had been to the Gap store on Wednesday, or who might have information regarding this crime, are being asked to contact police.

As news of Moore’s death spread through town, residents expressed a range of emotions.

“She was so beautiful and so kind. Who would want to hurt her like this?” Stephens said.

“It makes me real nervous,” said a female resident who asked not to be identified. “I’ve never thought twice about coming down here at night. Nothing ever goes on in this town.

“It’s scary,” she added, staring at the police tape across the front door.

By Thursday afternoon, a makeshift memorial of flowers and signs had appeared by the main entrance to Northwood East High School. Within hours, friends of the victim had added stuffed animals, photographs, poems, and other notes of remembrance.

“I can’t believe it,” said one student who described himself as a friend of the deceased. “She loved everybody. And everybody loved her.”

The detective was polite each morning when he called, and Davis feigned patience each morning when the detective, after small talk, confessed to having no leads. Well, not zero leads, exactly: a profile had been made of the attacker. The police believed he was white and fair-skinned. They had some general idea about his size, based on the placement of the bruises and the force exerted on her arm, breaking it in two, but that ruled out only the unusually short and the freakishly tall. They did not think he was obese, according to their reconstruction of the rape itself. He may or may not have been someone Anna Kat knew – probably not, because if she had been expecting someone that night, she might have told somebody, but then again, who can say? The medical examiner said the injuries were consistent with rape, but could not comment on whether the state’s attorney would include sexual assault along with the murder charge when police apprehended a suspect. When Davis expressed outrage after that information had appeared in the paper, the detective settled him down and assured him that when a beaten, broken, strangled girl has fresh semen inside her, that’s a rape in the cops’ book, no matter what the M.E. says; and then he apologized for putting it that way, for being so goddamn insensitive, and then Davis had to reassure the detective. That’s all right. He didn’t want them to be sensitive. He wanted the police to be as angry and raw as he was. The detective understood that the Moores wanted a resolution. “We know you want closure, Dr. Moore, and so do we,” he said. “Some of these cases take time.”

Often, the police told the Moores, a friend of the victim will think aloud during questioning: It’s probably nothing, you know, but there’s this strange guy who was always hanging around… This time, none of Anna Kat’s friends could offer even a cynical theory. Fingerprints were too plentiful to be useful (“Everyone in town has had their palms on that countertop,” the detective said), and the police were sure the perpetrator had worn gloves anyway, by the thickness of the bruises on her wrists and neck. Daniel Kinney, Anna Kat’s off-again boyfriend, was questioned three times. He was appropriately distraught and cooperative, submitting to a blood test and bringing his parents, but never a lawyer. Interviews with Northwood students continued.

Blond hairs were found at the scene, and police had determined they belonged to the killer by comparing the DNA to his semen. With no suspect sharing those same microscopic markers, however, the evidence was an answer to an unasked question. A proof without hypothesis. Before or during the rape, she had been beaten. During or possibly after the rape, she had been strangled. One arm and both legs were broken. Seven hundred forty-nine dollars were missing from a pair of registers, and there might have been some clothes gone from the racks. (The embarrassed store manager wasn’t sure about that, inventory being something of a mess, but it’s possible that a few pocket tees were taken. Extra large. The police noted this in their profile.)