"Newman said there's a body this time," she said excitedly.
"IT we."
"How can we be sure it's him?" Nancy asked.
"The note and the rose were on the floor near the woman," Grimsbo answered. He was a big man with a beer gut and thinning black hair who wore cheap plaid jackets and polyester slacks.
"It's him 'all right," said Turner, a skinny black man with close-cropped hair and a permanent scowl who was in his second year in night law school. "The first cop on the scene was smart enough to figure out what was going on. He called me right away. Michaels did the note and the crime scene before anyone else was let in."
That was a break. Who's the second victim?"
"Melody Lake," Grimsbo answered. "She's six years old, Nancy."
"Oh, fuck." The excitement she felt at finally getting a body disappeared instantly. "Did he… Was there anything done to her?"
Turner shook his head. "She wasn't molested."
"And the woman?"
"Sandra Lake. The mother. Death by strangulation.
She was beaten pretty badly, too, but there's no evidence of sexual activity. Course, she hasn't been autopsied."
"Do we have a witness?"
"I don't know," Grimsbo answered. "We have uniforms talking to the neighbors, but nothing yet. Husband found the bodies and called it in to 911 about eight-fifteen. He says he didn't see anyone, so the killer must have left way before the husband got home. We got a cul de-sac here and it leads into Sparrow Lane, the only road out of the development.
The husband would have seen someone coming in or out."
"Who's talked to him?"
"I did, for a few minutes," Turner answered. "And the first cops on the scene, of course. He was too bent out of shape to make any sense. You know him, Nancy."
"I do?"
"It's Peter Lake."
"The attorney?"
Grimsbo nodded. "He defended Daley."
Nancy frowned and tried to remember what she could about Peter Lake. She had not done much in the Daley investigation. All she recalled about the defense attorney were his good looks and efficient manner. She was on the stand less than a half hour.
"I better go in," Nancy said.
The entryway was huge. A small chandelier hung overhead. A sunken living room was directly in front of her. The room was spotless. She could see a small manmade lake out back through a large picture window.
Strategically placed around the room, most probably by an interior decorator, were bleached oak tables with granite tops, chairs and a sofa in pastel shades and macrame wall hangings. It looked more like a showroom than a place where people lived.
A wide staircase was off to the left. A polished wood banister followed the curve of the stairs to the second floor. The posts supporting the banister were closely spaced. Through the spaces, halfway up the stairs, Nancy could see a small lump covered by a blanket. She turned away.
Lab technicians were dusting for prints, taking photographs and collecting evidence. Bruce Styles, the deputy medical examiner, was standing with his back to her in the middle of the entryway between a uniformed officer and one of his assistants.
"You finished?" Nancy asked.
The doctor nodded and stepped aside. The woman was facedown on the white shag carpet. She was wearing a white cotton dress. It looked well suited for the heat.
Her feet were bare. The woman's head was turned away.
Blood matted her long brown hair. Nancy guessed she had been brought down by a blow to the head, and Styles confirmed her suspicion.
"I figure she was running for the door and he got her from behind. She could have been partly conscious or completely out when he strangled her."
Nancy walked around the body so she could see the woman's face. She was sorry she looked. If the woman had been attractive, there was no way to tell now. Nancy took a couple of deep breaths.
"What about the little girl?" she asked.
"Neck broken," Styles answered. "It would have been quick and painless.
"We think she was a witness to the mother's murder," Turner said.
"Probably heard her screaming and came down the steps."
"Where's the husband?" Nancy asked.
"Down the hall in the den," Turner said.
"No sense putting it off."
Peter Lake slumped in a chair. Someone had given him a glass of scotch, but the glass was still more than half full.
He looked up when Nancy entered the den and she could see he had been crying. Even so, he was a striking man, tall with a trim, athletic build. Lake's styled, gold-blond hair, his pale blue eyes and sharp, clean-shaven features were what won over the women on his juries.
"Mr. Lake, do you remember me?" Nancy asked.
Lake looked confused.
"I'm a homicide detective. My name is Nancy Gordon. You cross-examined me in the Daley-case."
"Of course. I'm sorry. I don't handle many criminal cases anymore.
"How are you feeling?" Nancy asked, sitting across from Lake.
"I'm numb."
"I know what. you're going through Nancy started, but lake's head jerked up.
"How could you-they're dead. My family is dead."
Lake covered his eyes with his hand-to-and wept. His shoulders trembled.
"I do know how you feel," Nancy said softly. "A year ago my fiancee was murdered. The only good thing that came out of it was that I learned how victims really feel, and sometimes I can even help them get through the worst of it."
Lake looked up. He wiped his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "It's just so hard. They meant everything to me. And Melody… How could someone do that to a little girl?
She couldn't hurt anybody. She was just a little girl."
"Mr. Lake, four women have disappeared in Hunter's Point in the past few months. A black rose and a note, identical to the ones you found, were left at each home. I know how much you're grieving, but we have to act fast. This is the first time we have actually found a victim. That could mean you surprised the killer before he had time to take your wife away.
Anything you can tell us would be deeply appreciated and may help us catch this man before he kills again."
"I don't know anything. Believe me, I've thought about it. I was working late on a case. I called to let Sandy know. I didn't see anything unusual when I drove up. Then I… I'm really not too clear on what I did after I… I know I sat down on the bottom step."
Lake paused. He breathed deeply, trying to keep from crying again. His lip trembled. He took a sip of his scotch.
"This is very hard for me, Detective. I want to help, but… Really, this is very hard."
Nancy stood up and placed a hand on Lake's shoulder. He began to weep again.
"I'm going to leave my card. I want you to call me if I can do anything for you. Anything. If you remember something, no matter how insignificant you may believe it to be, call me. Please."
"I will. I'll be better in the morning and I'll… It's just "It's all right. Oh, one other thing. The media will be after you. They won't respect your privacy. Please don't talk- to them. There are many aspects of this case we are not going to release to the public. We keep back facts to help us eliminate phony confessions and to identify the real killer. It's very important that you keep what you know to yourself."
"I won't talk to the press. I don't want to see any "Okay," Nancy said kindly. "And you're going to be all right. Not one hundred percent, and not for a long time, but you'll deal with your grief. It won't be easy.
I'm still not healed, but I'm better, and you'll be better too.
Remember what I said about calling. Not the police business. You know, if you just want to talk."
Lake nodded. When Nancy left the den, he was sprawled in the chair, his head back and his eyes closed.