Burden extracted the key and held it up. “Not the same.”
Vail tilted her head, appraising it. “Just a plain brass key. Kwikset. One in…what, millions? Not the specialized shape like the other ones.”
“So…what?” Burden asked. “He ran out of the other kind?”
Or it’s a different killer. The violence to the face. A different key. Is this a copycat who went by what’s in that Register article? Or is it the same asshole, just fucking with us, trying to make me do what I’m doing now. Running in circles and getting nowhere…
“Karen.” Dixon waved a hand in front of Vail’s face. “Hello, Dixon to Vail. Over.”
Vail refocused her eyes. “Sorry. Running it through my brain.”
“Care to share?” Burden asked. “Usually works better that way.”
“Telling people what pops into my head sometimes gets me into trouble.”
Dixon chuckled. “No argument there.”
Vail took the key in her gloved palm and looked at it. “It’s possible this is a copycat. I wanna go back through Scheer’s article and see exactly what details he disclosed. If this offender painted by numbers based on what Scheer described, the chances of this being a different scumbag go up. Could be he’s the same guy, trying to throw us off. Playing with us.”
Burden craned his neck and studied a letter laying on the dresser. “Just a guess, but I think our vic is Roberta Strayhan.”
“Hey, you guys up here?” A voice from the hallway.
“In the bedroom,” Burden said.
Rex Jackson walked in with his kit. He noticed the key in Vail’s hand. “Couldn’t you have waited? You’re making my job harder.”
Vail handed Jackson the evidence. “I’d apologize, but I don’t want to be disingenuous.”
Jackson chuckled a humorless laugh. “You’re a piece of work.”
“Hey,” Dixon said. “You’re getting a more civil, diplomatic Karen Vail. A few months ago, her response wouldn’t have been so nice.”
“Thanks,” Vail said. I think.
Jackson pulled his camera from its bag. “I guess I should feel fortunate. But I don’t.”
Burden took a long look around the room, and then said, “Clay Allman’s downstairs waiting to come up. How long?”
Jackson thumbed a dial on his Nikon. “Give me thirty. And make sure he’s escorted, I don’t wanna be responsible testifying about what he did or didn’t see.”
As Jackson began snapping photos, Burden, Dixon, and Vail left the room and let him work his magic. They exited the building and joined Clay Allman by the curb, right where they had left him, hands in his jeans pockets and flexing his legs in place. The temperature had dropped a few degrees and dusk had crept in.
“You didn’t have to stay in the exact spot,” Burden said. “I was only kidding.”
Allman spread his arms. “I aim to please.”
“My mother had a sign like that in the bathroom,” Vail said. “Over the toilet. I aim to please, so please aim.”
“Sounds like you had a strange childhood,” Dixon said.
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Give it another thirty,” Burden said to Allman, “then head on up with Sanchez. Sanchez,” he called to the cop standing at the building entrance. “Thirty minutes, take Clay Allman up to the crime scene. And don’t leave his side.”
Sanchez raised a hand in acknowledgment.
“How about you come by after, walk us through those cases you dropped off.”
Allman consulted his watch. “I’ve gotta file a story, but I can come by tomorrow morning, spend a little time.” He backed away, then said, “Good?”
“That’ll work,” Burden said.
“If it isn’t my new favorite asshole,” Vail said.
Pulling up to the curb was Stephen Scheer. He shoved the gearshift to its endpoint, and then got out of his Honda.
Burden extended an arm to block Vail’s path. “I think I’ve gotten to know you pretty well, Karen. Leave him alone. Let me handle this.”
Vail kept her mouth closed, but the firm set of her jaw and narrowed eyes spoke volumes.
Dixon came up beside Vail. “Think he’s gonna look at us?”
“I wouldn’t invite eye contact if I was him.”
“Inspector,” Scheer said, doing as Dixon had predicted and behaving as if the two women were not present. “I’m told you’ve got a new body.”
“I can’t confirm or deny,” Burden said.
Scheer’s gaze flicked over to Allman, who was standing thirty feet away, beside Officer Sanchez.
“So is that how this is going to be? Silent treatment and a barrage of ‘no comments’?”
Burden cocked his head. “What do you want me to do? You’ve put us in a very, very tough spot. But yeah, there’s a new body. That’s all I’m gonna say.”
“And get this, dickhead,” Vail said. “Your bullshit article might be responsible for her death. Print that.”
“Don’t give me that,” Scheer said.
“We warned you,” Dixon said. “Did you think we were bullshitting you?”
Allman was standing by the doorway, his chin tipped back, watching the scene play out. Vail figured he must be enjoying it, though he displayed no overt signs that it brought him any pleasure.
“You still have a chance to make this right,” Dixon said.
“It’s beyond fixing,” Vail said. “But you can prevent the guilt from keeping you up at night. Tell us where you got that info. Who’s your source?”
Scheer poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. He looked at Allman and held his gaze, then turned and stormed back to his car. A moment later, he burned rubber away from the scene.
Vail watched him peel away and began to wonder if they would ever learn who was sabotaging their case. If he didn’t reveal himself soon, she was going to have to quit being so nice and do more than merely ruffle a few feathers.
32
MacNally had finally fallen asleep. He was dozing and dreaming of Henry when he felt a firm hand clamp down on his mouth. His eyes shot open-but before he could react, two arms swung him onto his stomach and his head was buried in the pillow. A heavy weight climbed on top of his legs.
A hand grasped the waistband of his pants and yanked hard, nearly ripping the fabric and pulling them down. His legs were pried apart.
MacNally tried to twist his neck, to free it, to call out, to bite-something defensive-but whoever had a grip on the back of his head had his face pressed so firmly into the pillow he had tremendous difficulty breathing. His attacker’s other hand was applying such a powerful downward force between his shoulders that fighting back was impossible. He was, essentially, locked down in place.
Voorhees’s words echoed in his mind, and he instantly knew what was coming. A second later, he felt something hard penetrate his anus. And it hurt, ripping pain as he tightened and tried to fight it-but with his legs splayed apart, he couldn’t muster any strength to keep the sphincter closed.