Karen Rose - I’m Watching You

„You forgot the postmortem pelvic-ectomies,“ Mia said, tongue-in-cheek.

Kristen sighed. „No, we can’t forget about that.“

Reagan sat back, crossed his arms over his chest. „The murderers he dealt with cleanly and efficiently. The sex offenders got something extra.“

„Maybe he’s a victim, too,“ Jack said.

„Or someone in his family was,“ Spinnelli countered.

„Or both,“ Kristen said quietly. She looked up and her eyes skirted away from Reagan’s. „The family members exhibit a different kind of victimology, it’s true.“

Abe frowned. There was something in her tone, in the way she wouldn’t meet his eyes. „Stan Dorsey is proof positive of that,“ he said, wondering if she was still shaken by Dorsey’s display. He knew he was, and he’d faced Dorsey’s kind before. The sight of those crazed eyes and all those guns… He didn’t imagine it was a sight Kristen Mayhew saw every day.

Her smile was distant, brittle. „He certainly is.“ She turned to Mia, effectively shutting him out. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and turn her back, but of course he didn’t „What did Miles Westphalen say this morning?“ she asked.

Mia shot him a look over Kristen’s head before answering. „He thought our guy had a life-altering event recently which caused him to snap. That if he’d been a victim or had a family member that was a victim, the actual crime happened some time ago. But that something happened recently to trigger all this.“ Mia looked over her shoulder at Spinnelli, then back at Kristen. „Miles wanted to know if you had protection.“

Kristen kept her composure. „He thinks I need it?“

„Yes,“ Mia said unflinchingly.

Her fingers drummed against the table once before she flattened her hand. Abe would have missed the slight tremble in her fingers had he not been looking. No wonder she was so good in the courtroom. Kristen Mayhew had control down to a science. „He hasn’t threatened me specifically.“

„If it were me, I’d request it, Kris,“ Julia said earnestly. „The idea of a peeping Tom with a scope scares me.“

Her jaw hardened. „I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. For right now I don’t intend to be a prisoner in my own home or be forced out of it. What else did Westphalen say?“

Mia apparently knew when to concede. „He was interested in the grave markers.“

„So let’s talk about them,“ Spinnelli said. „Jack, anything on the stones?“

Julia stood up. „I don’t have anything more to give you until I start the autopsies tomorrow, and I have a babysitter on the clock at home. Do you need me anymore?“

Spinnelli shook his head. „Go on home, Julia. You want some of this pie?“

Julia shook her head. „No, thanks. I’ll be starting the autopsies at nine a.m. if anyone wants to join me.“ She gathered her purse and notepad. „Night, everyone.“

„Jack?“ Spinnelli tapped the table and Jack’s head whipped around.

„Hmm?“ Jack’s face heated. „Sorry. What did you say?“ With humor and pity, Abe noted how Jack’s gaze had followed Julia’s every movement as she left the room. Jack was smitten, and Julia either didn’t know or didn’t care. Poor guy.

Spinnelli blinked at him. „The grave markers? What did you find?“

Jack cleared his throat. „The markers are made from marble. The inscriptions are sandblasted versus hand-carved, which makes sense. He would have needed a week to hand-carve just one.“

„Sandblasting?“ Kristen asked. „How does it work?“ Jack settled back in his chair. „Generally the craftsman makes a template from rubber or a vellum film, like a photographic negative – the parts he wants inscribed are cut out. He puts the template on top of whatever he’s blasting, then puts it through a sandblaster. Fine sand is blasted at the rock, eating away everything but the rubber. When he’s done, he peels off the template and the inscription is complete. But it’s harder to get all the template material off the flat surfaces when the letters are blasted deep into the rock, like these markers.“

Mia looked impressed. „You’ve done this?“ Jack’s smile was wry. „I gave up handcrafts after I almost cut off my thumb in high school shop class. No, I did an Internet search on sandblasting. There are a few major memorial manufacturers in the area, but I don’t think this guy went outside. I’d bet he did these himself. From what I read, with the right equipment it wouldn’t be that hard to do.“

„Where would he get the equipment?“ Spinnelli asked.

„Again, there are only a few major manufacturers of equipment powerful enough to do such a big job. There were traces of the template material on King’s marker, and the lab says it’s not rubber. It’s vellum. That narrows it down a bit.“

„I’ll follow up on this one,“ Mia said. „Jack, I’ll get the names of those companies from you tomorrow, then I’ll get a list of Chicago customers.“

„He could have bought the equipment some time ago,“ Abe said.

Mia nodded contemplatively. „Perhaps. But these guys have to buy materials somewhere. I’ll ask about that, too. I mean, I don’t think you’re going to get tombstone-quality marble at the local Wal-Mart.“

Spinnelli noted it on the whiteboard. „What else?“

„We’re still checking the clothing we found in the crates. I expect some results in the morning. We’ll also run the notes the Ramey victims got through the lab tomorrow,“ Jack said. „Though if we find anything, I’ll be shocked.“

Kristen sighed. „We still have to visit King’s victims and the parents of the two kids killed by the Blades.“

Abe could see it was something she was dreading. „I can go by myself, Kristen.“

She shook her head, just as he’d known she would. „No, I need to do this. Can you wait until after ten in the morning? I have motion hour at nine.“ Her cell phone jangled, a digitized Pachelbel’s Canon. „Mayhew… Hi, John, yeah we’re almost finished.“ She paled and jumped to her feet, moving to the television in the corner. „Oh, hell. What channel?“

The set came to life, revealing Zoe Richardson reporting from a familiar street.

„Fuck,“ Mia snarled.

„Bottom-feeding bitch,“ Jack muttered.

Abe studied Kristen, standing in front of the flickering screen, the remote visibly shaking in her hand. But this time it wasn’t fear on her face. It was rage. He understood how she felt. Richardson must have been following her all afternoon, lurking in the shadows until they were gone and she could get her pound of flesh.

„And so a chilling chapter in the lives of three women comes to a close,“ Richardson said, her hair barely moving in the brisk evening breeze. The camera zoomed to frame Sylvia Whitman’s home. „First they were victims of rape, then denied justice by what many termed incompetence within the State’s Attorney’s Office, but today these women are finally vindicated. Today each of these three innocent women received visits from Assistant State’s Attorney Kristen Mayhew accompanied by two CPD detectives to inform them that Anthony Ramey, the man who allegedly terrorized and victimized them has paid the ultimate price.“

The anchor’s voice cut in, sober and concerned. „What do the police and the State’s Attorney’s Office have to say about this, Zoe?“

„We were unable to reach the police for comment this evening. We can only assume they are working to uncover clues to the identity of Ramey’s killer.“

„Were the three women able to provide any additional information, Zoe? Anything that might be helpful to the police?“ the anchor asked.

„Son of a bitch,“ Jack muttered. „Like we need her kind of help.“