Mariah Stewart - Dead End

“Sounds like a deal.” She smiled and turned to answer her ringing phone. “Oh. There was one more thing. Our unidentified girls all had tattoos on their left hips.”

“Tattoos?”

“Little stars. Somewhat crudely made, but they were definitely stars. Three tiny stars, right below the waist at the top of the hip on the left side. What do you make of that?”

“Stars?” Annie asked.

“Right. I’m faxing you a photo right now. Can you see if it matches up with anything in the Bureau files? I tried to scan it into our computer, but once again, the computer is giving me the finger. Some glitch in the firewall, they’re telling me.”

“Go ahead and fax it down, let me take a look.”

“It should be there any minute.” Evan paused, then said, “Dr. Jenkins agrees that we’re dealing with more than one killer.”

He reiterated the gist of his conversation with the medical examiner.

“Prostitutes? Fourteen-, fifteen-year-old prostitutes?” She thought for a minute, then said, “Well, that would make sense, wouldn’t it? Maybe they were tattooed by whoever is putting them out. Then again, they could be gang members. That’s just as likely, don’t you think? Maybe the stars identify them as a member of a specific gang. Or maybe they mark them as the property of a gang.”

“It’s worth looking into, but I have to tell you that I haven’t heard of anything like that around here. I’ll check with Philly, Trenton, Scranton, Camden, Newark, New York -maybe someone will have seen this before.”

“If they were prostitutes, it would explain why you haven’t received missing persons reports. If it’s a gang thing, though, you might still have parents involved somewhere. The girls would most likely live at home. If that’s the case, someone should be looking for these girls, Evan. Still no calls?”

“None. And we’ve told the dispatchers from every community to call us the minute anyone inquires about any one of these kids, but there’s been nothing. I’ll put out inquiries up and down the East Coast, though. See if someone, somewhere, is looking for them.”

“I think the tattoos might help us track them.” She bit at a cuticle, something she almost never did. “I just can’t help but think that somewhere, someone is crying their eyes out over these girls. Someone has to have missed them. These kids have names, they have families somewhere.”

“Well, maybe one of us will get lucky and we’ll find out where that somewhere is.”

“Let me make a call or two and get back to you.”

Annie was searching her desk drawer for the office directory even as she hung up. She found the number she was looking for, dialed, then waited.

“Fletcher.”

“My favorite computer geek.” She sighed dramatically.

“My favorite profiler.” Will Fletcher laughed. “How’s it going, Annie?”

“Good. You?”

“Terrific. Great wedding, by the way.”

“You and Miranda seemed to be having a good time.” She paused, then added, “Especially Miranda.”

“Hey, my girl does love to party. Never met a band she couldn’t dance to.”

“And dance, she did.”

They both laughed, then Will said, “But you didn’t call to talk about Miranda’s happy feet.”

“Actually, I was hoping you could give me a hand with something.”

“This have anything to do with you and Evan looking into Dylan’s death?”

“How’d you know about that?” she asked. “Oh. I almost forgot. The word is that Will Fletcher knows everything. Word is that you have mysterious sources.”

“Not so mysterious. I saw Brendan yesterday. He mentioned it.”

“Evan and I are taking a look at the circumstances surrounding Dylan’s death, but this has nothing to do with that.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m happy to help, either way.”

“Actually, this has to do with a case Evan is working back in Pennsylvania.”

“Those young girls that have been murdered?”

“If you know that, you probably know that they have three victims that are similar but unrelated.”

“I heard a rumor, but no details. Tell me.”

She did.

“So you’re looking to identify the tattoo.”

“For starters, yes. I can fax you a picture of them.” She reached over and studied the faxed image again.

“When do you need an answer?”

“As soon as you have one.”

“Let me get to work on it and get back to you. I assume if I get a hit, you want all available information?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, Will. Give me your fax number.”

She wrote it down, then programmed the number into the machine next to her desk.

“It’s on its way.”

“I’ll be waiting for it.”

How did anyone ever get anything done without all of this modern technology? she wondered as she fed the picture into the machine.

Well, they got it done, it just took a lot longer.

Evan’s fax fed through the machine and the buzz assured her the operation was completed. If anyone could trace that tattoo, it was Will Fletcher, whose skills were legendary in the Bureau. She had full confidence that if the tattoo had been entered into the system, Will would find it. She mentally moved on to the next task on her list of things to do.

Find Melissa Lowery.

Chris Malone, chief detective, Avon County, was staring out the window, a sheet of paper in his hand, when Evan knocked on the doorframe. Malone turned to look over his shoulder.

“Come on in, Crosby.”

“What’s up?” Evan entered the office and leaned over the back of a leather wing chair.

“Same thing that’s been up. The D.A. has the entire county on his back over this killer who’s running around, snatching the daughters of some of our leading citizens off the street, and we’re all being toasted in the press.”

“Yeah, the parking lot is full of news vans. I had to park down on Fourth Street again this morning.”

“Well, get used to it. None of them are leaving until this is over. Did you see this morning’s paper?”

He walked to his desk and held up the front page of the county’s tabloid. LOCAL LAW ENFORCEMENT STYMIED. HOW MANY MORE VICTIMS WILL THE KILLER CLAIM?

He turned the page and opened it to the lead story on page three and read the screaming headline. “ ‘Will Your Daughter Be Next?’ ”

Malone tossed the paper onto his desk in disgust.

“And up until this morning, we didn’t have one fucking clue.”

“What happened this morning?” Evan asked.

“This.” Malone handed him the sheet of paper he’d been holding. Evan studied it for a full minute before reacting.

DEAR CHIEF OF DETECTIVES MALONE,

I SAW YOU ON THE NEWS TONIGHT. YOU SAID THAT YOU FOUND THREE MORE VICTIMS OF THIS GUY WHO IS KILLING GIRLS IN AVON COUNTY. WELL, THAT WOULD BE ME. AND I AM TELLING YOU THAT I DID NOT KILL THOSE OTHER GIRLS, THE ONES YOU FOUND IN THE WOODS. THAT IS SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK, IT IS NOT MINE. STOP SAYING I KILLED THEM ALL. I KNOW WHO MY GIRLS WERE AND WHERE I LEFT THEM. THESE OTHER GIRLS, I DON’T KNOW WHO THEY ARE OR WHO KILLED THEM. IT WAS NOT ME.

AND ANOTHER THING. WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO GET A SPECIAL NAME FROM YOU GUYS? YOU KNOW, LIKE THE BOSTON STRANGLER, OR THE GREEN RIVER KILLER. I THINK I HAVE EARNED A SPECIAL NAME. I LIKE THE SCHOOLGIRL SLAYER. I THOUGHT SOMEONE AS SMART AS YOU WOULD THINK UP A NAME. SINCE YOU DID NOT, I HAD TO MAKE UP MY OWN. I THINK IT IS A GOOD ONE. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT. YOU’LL BE USING IT OVER AND OVER. JUST NOT FOR THESE OTHER GIRLS. WHY WOULD I WANT TO KILL A BUNCH OF NAMELESS NOBODIES? HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID TO THINK THOSE OTHER GIRLS WOULD INTEREST ME?

SIGNED,