They moved toward the front of the house and headed up the narrow staircase to the second floor. Two bedrooms and a bathroom sat before them.
Vail led them into the only one with an open door. The odor of death was pungent and flared her nostrils. But as intense as the smell was, it was nowhere near as impactful as the image of what lay before them.
Sprawled out on the bed lay an elderly woman. Vail wanted to turn away but could not. It was one thing seeing the body in the morgue. This one was relatively fresh. And she bore a slight resemblance to her mother. She bit down on her bottom lip.
“Shit,” Friedberg said. “I knew what we were gonna see, but does anything prepare you for a scene like this?”
Maybe a lobotomy.
Burden backed out of the room. “I’ve seen enough.”
“Are you-you’re shitting me,” Vail said. “What exactly have you seen?”
“Enough. I’ve seen enough. Same as before, same as the last one.”
“You don’t mind if I take a closer look?”
“Be my guest. I’m gonna go check for missing electrical cords.”
“You and me, then,” Vail said to Friedberg. She carefully moved to the side of the bed and examined the body visually. “Burn marks,” she said, pointing at an area overlying the abdomen. “Same as the ones on Maureen Anderson.” The woman’s blouse had been pulled up over her chest but was not covering the face.
Friedberg smacked his lips, as if trying to hold back an upchuck of bile. “Violated, like Anderson.”
Vail stepped back and took a look around, viewing the victim from different angles. Her shoe nudged the edge of something hard. “And I just found his preferred tool.” She looked down at her foot. It was touching the tip of a blood-soaked black umbrella.
They remained with the body for another ten minutes, then checked the other rooms. As they were headed downstairs, CSI Rex Jackson was walking in the front door.
“She’s upstairs,” Vail said.
They found Burden in the kitchen, staring out the back window. “This guy isn’t gonna stop, is he?”
“No,” Vail said. “Offenders like him, they’re going to keep killing until we grab him up. There’s a lot going on here. A lot for us to figure out.”
“Anything we need to know down here?” Friedberg asked.
Burden hiked a shoulder. “No sign of forced entry. I’ve got some officers out canvassing neighbors to see who these people were so we can build on our victimology.”
“Good,” Vail said.
Burden’s gaze remained out the window. “The Andersons have a daughter. She’s out of the country. Lives in France. We’re trying to get word to her. The Ilgs apparently have two kids, a boy and a girl. With families of their own.”
“Electrical cords?” Vail asked.
“All here. In fact, this crime scene is a near copy of the other one.” He turned to face them. “So what’s the deal? Why these people? Another husband and wife. Any significance to that?”
“For now, it’s still possible the UNSUB wants something from the man, so he tortures the woman until he gives it up. But…”
“But what?”
“But I’m not sure that’s right, or maybe it’s not all that’s going on. There are a lot of behaviors left at the scene. This guy is a psychopath, that much is clear. It might not be about information or material things that he wants.”
“How do we find out what he wants?”
“The answer may be in what he left behind at the crime scene. But we may not know enough yet to interpret it.”
Burden’s phone buzzed. He lifted it to his ear and said, “Talk to me.” He listened a moment, then nodded. “Got it. Thanks.”
“Well?” Vail asked.
“Our male vic, Russell Ilg, was an IRS auditor. He retired several years ago and had been working for a consulting company giving lectures to groups on avoiding tax pitfalls.”
“Auditors aren’t well-liked individuals,” Friedberg said.
“What do a white-collar attorney and an IRS auditor have in common?” Vail asked. “Besides brutally murdered spouses and a reservation at the county morgue.”
“Irene worked as a librarian,” Burden said. “She still goes in-went in-twice a week.”
“So did she come into contact with our offender through the library?” Vail asked. “Not sure how we’d track it, but we should see if we can get a list of people who were in the library on the days she worked. Let’s go back a few months.”
“I’ll get on it,” Friedberg said, “though I doubt they have any records like that. But who wouldn’t like a librarian?”
They fell quiet. Vail used the time to think through what she had seen. “You know…it might not be a personal thing. I’m starting to think these victims are conduits.”
“Come again?” Friedberg asked.
“A conduit. It looks personal. The violence, the umbrella, the torture with the electrical shocks. But we’ve now got four vics and two women brutally murdered. His violence is mostly instrumental. It’s cold-blooded, predatory, and mission oriented. I don’t think it’s a personal thing. The vics-the wives, or the husbands, or both-represent someone who wronged him at some point in his life.”
“Great,” Burden said. “Now we gotta figure out what these people are supposed to represent. Back to that symbolism bullshit. That’s fucking great. Where the hell do you go with that?”
“Small steps, Burden. Otherwise it’ll overwhelm us.” Vail gestured with her head. “Did you look around down here?”
Burden waved a hand. “Nothing of interest. They look like an average old couple. Just like the Andersons. No unusual letters. No computer. Did you find one upstairs?”
“No. It’s possible the PC age passed them by. How old are they?”
“Russell was eighty-four. Irene was seventy-nine.”
Vail looked around the kitchen. Appliances were used but not original; they had been replaced at some point in the past decade. She moved into the living room. Family photos stared back at her from the walls. The Ilgs had two children and five grandchildren, from what she could ascertain. Everyone looked happy. It wasn’t just that they were smiling; it was more than that. Their faces and demeanor looked like they weren’t burdened by stress. That’ll change when they find out what happened to their loved ones.
They remained in the apartment another twenty minutes, then walked outside. Leaning against his car was Clay Allman. He pushed off his Toyota and headed toward Vail, Burden, and Friedberg.
“Okay?”
“You’ve got three minutes,” Burden said. “And leave your bag and phone here.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I’d rather not have to answer for missing evidence or unauthorized photos in court.”