Watching the crime techs at work was fascinating-and rather discouraging, too. It was of considerable interest to him to see where they focused their attention. The careful steps they took to ensure that no tracks or footsteps were obliterated-not that he had left any. All right-one tire track. He was human. What could they possibly do with that? He would change the tires on the truck tonight, just to be safe.
These people spent hours coating the area with a fine white dust, hoping to find a fingerprint. Absurd. To leave behind clues of that caliber, one would have to be a fool. No, he wanted to scream at them, I didn’t leave behind any hair-I wore a net the entire time. Did they think they were dealing with a beer-sozzled redneck? A tripped-out tourist? Had he not made it abundantly clear that he was a serious man doing serious work?
Thank heaven Susan finally arrived. His sweet, beautiful Cassandra. Yes, his totem had been right, had been prophetic. It was still early days, but he felt certain that she would be the one to appreciate what he had done. She’d barely been on the scene a minute yesterday before she had Annabel’s mouth open, something none of her predecessors, not even the representatives from the coroner’s office, had the sense to do. Her understanding encompasseth mountains…
But Susan’s return to the scene today was fraught with disappointment. For starters, she did not come alone. Who was this new companion? He hadn’t been at the police station. He was dressed casually and didn’t appear to have any official status. And yet, Susan talked to him constantly. It was as if she was feeding him information, soliciting his opinion about every aspect of the case. Was he her friend, her partner? Or something more? He seemed younger than she, surely too young to be…
And yet there was something between them, something real, important. He tightened the focus on his binoculars, zooming in for a closer look. He stared at the young man’s eyes, watching the way he moved, the way he talked, for a considerable period of time. And yet, he couldn’t get a reading on him. The young man’s eyes were like reflecting mirrors. There was something… elusive about him. Something inscrutable. As if there was an emotional lacuna where a soul should be. As if… as if he wasn’t entirely a part of this world.
Dream-Land? No. He might not be able to discern what drove Susan’s young cohort, but he was certain it was not enlightenment. There was more confusion about him than determination.
And yet he couldn’t help but wonder…
Did he pose a threat? The others, with their by-the-book approach and mundane sensibilities had little hope of ever discovering the truth. But this new interloper…
He would have to keep a close eye on this young man.
On his way out of the airport, he bought a newspaper from a self-serve kiosk. He would want the day’s story for his History. The article about the discovery of Annabel’s body was rather disappointingly small, even though there were no other stories of great import. Was this town so jaded that murder no longer captured its imagination? What was this distorted mentality that bestowed more attention on Siegfried and Roy than a messiah?
SECOND BODY FOUND IN
ABANDONED AIRCRAFT
BY JONATHAN WOOLEY
Another naked corpse was discovered late Friday afternoon by FAA investigators in one of the many abandoned aircrafts housed on the rear field at McCarran International, authorities confirmed at a noon press conference. Although officials did not offer an opinion as to whether this death was linked to the body found two days before at the Transylvania Resort Hotel, they did acknowledge that both bodies were entirely naked, and that both were found with a mysterious written message.
“We’re doing everything we can to solve this case,” said Chief of Police Robert O’Bannon. “Even calling in federal experts. But it would be a mistake to prematurely conclude that the killings are linked without more information.” When pressed, Chief O’Bannon acknowledged that there was a strong possibility that both crimes were committed by the same assailant or assailants. He offered no opinion as to who that might be or what motive might lie behind the crimes. He did note that the two deaths were very different in nature. The woman found at the Transylvania died of asphyxiation, while preliminary indications were that this latest victim had died from exsanguination.
Even if the crimes are linked, O’Bannon noted, it is important not to create a panic. “Las Vegas is a large city, and there is no reason to believe that anyone, especially tourists, are in danger.” Lieutenant Barry Granger, the homicide detective assigned to the case, also urged that…
He closed the paper, disgusted. Why did they always interpellate O’Bannon and Granger? They didn’t know anything. O’Bannon was a supervisor and Granger was a fool. Why didn’t they talk to Susan? Susan understood that this was not just another murder case; he was sure of it. She could give them a story worthy of publication. He would be interested to hear what she had to say. What she thought of this case, these crimes.
What she thought about him.
He had always considered himself a paragon of decorum and chivalrous behavior. He had modeled himself after the prophet in word and deed, sensibilities, even adopting the euphuism of his era. But there were so many unanswered questions. He would follow Susan constantly now, as much as he was able. To keep an eye on her. To ensure that her interest didn’t flag. And as to this new man-perhaps he would have to arrange a meeting. If there was danger afoot, he had to know. So he could take the appropriate action to eliminate it.
11
There were some advantages, I was beginning to learn, to having an office adjoining the men’s room. True, it meant I was on display like a museum exhibit, or perhaps more accurately, like a zoo animal, caged all day long. But it also meant that no one could avoid me, certainly no one male, no matter how much they might like to do so. Even Granger did not possess a cast-iron bladder. Earlier, he had tried to slip past by pointedly looking the other way, so I complimented him on something, I think on the way the coffee stain on his tie matched his underarm stains. For his afternoon visit, he decided to take the offensive. And he was pretty darned offensive about his offensive, too.
“Pulaski,” he growled, even before he got to my desk. “What the hell were you doing with O’Bannon’s kid?”
“I was investigating, sir. It’s what investigators do. Perhaps you were absent the day they covered that at the academy. Darcy was quite useful.”
“I know the kid’s story, Pulaski. And I saw how he acted at the crime scene. There’s no way-”
“You don’t know anything about it.”
“I know he’s been nothing but a burden to his father. I know O’Bannon never mentions him. Never.”