“Not all men hate women because they hate their mothers, Bruce,” Carleton said, “but it is the most common factor. We all had mothers of some kind. It’s entirely possible his contempt for women stems from a poor relationship with his mother. It could also stem from abuse. I’d say that’s more likely given the hands-on violence with which he kills them.”
“Why glue their eyes?” Micki asked and Carleton sighed.
“He wants them to look at him, to know who it is who dominates them.”
“But he doesn’t sexually assault them,” Jack said. “Why not?”
“He doesn’t feel he needs to,” Carleton said. “He’s stronger than that.”
“No. He’s afraid of them,” Olivia said and everyone turned to look at her, surprised.
Carleton’s brows lifted. “Excuse me?”
Olivia moved her shoulders restlessly. “No offense, Doc, but to have them nude and tied in a straitjacket and not assault them? He dresses them up, paints their faces, gives them sexy shoes… Leaves them looking like whores.”
Noah considered it. “He picks lonely women who haven’t had physical sex with a man in some time and makes them whores in every way but the most physical way.”
“And then he hangs them and waits for them to be found,” Jack finished. “He never starts on the next victim until his last has been discovered.”
“That’s the compulsion for order,” Carleton said. “Your theory is an interesting one, Olivia, but I don’t see fear here. Just intelligence, power, and control.”
“And arrogance,” Kane added. “Setting up a post office box right across the street.”
“I’ve met very few arrogant killers that were patient,” Noah said thoughtfully. “All of his victims were discovered within a few days of their murder except for Martha. She hung there for more than a week. I wonder if he got impatient while he waited. What might he do, Carleton? If his order was disturbed?”
“I think that depends on why he’s doing this,” Carleton replied. “He’s taunting you with clues that lead you to nothing. Maybe he just hates cops.”
“Or fears them,” Olivia added stubbornly and Carleton smiled.
“Or fears them,” he allowed. “I’ve researched case studies and found nothing similar. This killer is unique.”
“Three cheers for us,” Abbott said sarcastically.
“Captain?” Faye peeked around the door, entering when Abbott waved her in. “We just got a call from somebody who saw the story on the TV news. She says she saw Martha Brisbane on February 13.”
“The night she died,” Noah said. “Who is this woman?”
“Priscilla Bolyard. She was sitting with her husband in a coffee shop and Martha sat next to the window for a long time, obviously waiting for someone, then left at 9:15.”
“How did she remember the exact time?” Noah asked.
“Because her husband wanted to get home to watch a fight on pay-per-view, so they left right behind Martha. Here’s their contact info- Priscilla and Stuart Bolyard.” Faye made an apprehensive face. “Mrs. Bolyard specifically requested ‘that handsome detective on the MSP cover.’ They’re saving all the details for you, Jack.”
Jack slouched in his chair, his face darkening. “Wonderful,” he muttered.
“We’ll talk to them,” Noah said.
“Wait,” Abbott said when Noah started to stand. “Nobody leaves yet. The Buckland case. Sit down, tell us what you know, and how it connects.”
Wednesday, February 24, 5:15 p.m.
Eve settled on a vinyl sofa in the waiting room and started up her laptop. David was still getting scanned, so she had time. Logging in to Shadowland, she was relieved to see Kathy Kirk wheeling and dealing from Ninth Circle. Eve made a note to ask Noah to provide Kathy protection tonight. None of her female red-zones were safe, but Kathy’s condition made her particularly vulnerable.
She jumped at a sound behind her and looked over her shoulder to the door. “Sal.”
“Are you all right?” Sal demanded. He came around the bank of chairs to search her face. “I just heard what happened to your friend. That could have been you.”
“Was supposed to have been,” Eve corrected. “I’m sorry, Sal, I should have called you to warn you about this guy again.”
Sal’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you worry about us. I posted the sketch of this asshole at the bar, so if he has the balls to come back, we’ll take him down.”
Sal didn’t often take a belligerent tone but Eve knew he was scared. And grieving. “I’m sorry about Looey.”
He cleared his throat gruffly. “Looey was a good guy. Never would hurt a soul. Jeff Betz is crawling the wall, wishing he had his hands on that guy again. Eve, what’s going on here? This is craziness.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eve said glumly. “You be careful, okay? If he comes back…”
“If he comes back, it’ll be the last thing he does.”
“Sal,” Eve said, gripping his arm urgently. “Promise me you won’t do anything-”
“Anything what, Eve?” he asked, too quietly. “Stupid?”
Eve felt a shiver of apprehension. “Dangerous. Sal, you’re important to me.”
He sighed, wearily. “Dammit, Eve. I hate that he put his hands on you in my bar.”
“I know.” She hesitated. “You and Josie… you’ve been so good to me. Like… parents. Don’t flip out on me and get yourself killed. I’d never forgive myself.”
He was quiet a moment. “All right. Callie’s on tonight. We’ll watch over her.”
“Thank you. Sal, he was in your office last night. He put something in my computer bag. You should check the back door, make sure you’ve thrown the deadbolt.”
He made a frustrated sound, a growling in his throat. But when he spoke, it was calmly. “I will. You want me to sit with you?”
She shook her head. “I’d feel better if you were watching Callie. Olivia’s got all the security guys here watching for him.”
He rose. “All right then. Call me if you need me, honey. I’ll be here quick.”
“Thank you.” Eve watched him go, praying he’d stay calm. Half wishing this Buckland imposter would go back to the bar where fifty cops could bag him, and not too gently, but hoping he stayed far away from the people she loved.
Too antsy to sit still, Eve brought up a search screen and typed in Noah’s name before she realized she’d planned to do so.
Nothing Olivia said had changed Eve’s instinct that this “reporter’s” vendetta was against Noah. But why? And why now? Noah’s name brought back a page full of links to the MSP article on the Hat Squad. That was new, the article. Out in the last few weeks. Three weeks. Amy Millhouse had died three weeks ago. Coincidence? Unlikely.
Eve considered it. The article had brought the detectives a lot of attention, most of it unwanted. Some people, like Sal and me, were proud of their detectives.
But there was another element that might not take so kindly to positive press for the police. Who? Noah put away dangerous people. Any one of them could hate him.
“Evie? Oh my God, Evie.”
Eve looked up to see Tom Hunter rushing into the waiting room. At his side was a tall young woman. She was pale, her eyes bleak and red-rimmed, and even from across the waiting room Eve could feel her desperation. Eve put her laptop aside and rose, grabbing Tom’s hands. “He’s all right,” she said. “Take a deep breath.”
Tom shuddered out a breath. “I just got your messages. I’m sorry.”
“Where were you?” Eve asked, then leaned forward. “And who is she?”
“This is Liza,” Tom said. “She’s a friend. Where is David?”
“Getting a CAT scan. Relax,” Eve said. “It’ll be fine.” She stretched out a hand to Liza, who stood awkwardly to the side. “I’m Eve.”
Liza shook her hand, but tentatively. “Tom’s told me about you.”
Eve held on to Liza’s hand, studying her drawn face. The girl looked as if she were about to pass out. “Liza, when did you last eat?”
She winced. “I can’t remember.”
Tom gave the girl a look of mild reproach. “I told you to buy food.”
“I did. I forgot to eat it,” she said rebelliously.