“Because he didn’t take her. Valerie Kram was in good shape. When she went into the water and then washed up on shore, she wasn’t. The man kept her and did things to her. She may have been cut down the middle, but her skin was intact. I saw her body. She didn’t have any tattoos. I’ll bet it’s the same with those pictures on your wall. I’ll bet not one of them has a tattoo on their entire body. If they did, the bulletins would’ve said so.”
“Tell me about the wound you saw on Valerie Kram,” Nash said.
“You saw a picture of it just a few minutes ago.”
“Describe it for me anyway.”
Teddy wondered what Nash was up to. The photos Carolyn Powell had sent over in the manila envelope were lying on Nash’s desk beside the murder book.
“It was a single cut,” Teddy said. “The kind you’d make if you were gutting an animal in the field.”
“Have you gutted an animal in the field?”
“I’m not much of a hunter. I used to shoot though. I’ve seen it done before. It was the same cut they made at the autopsy.”
“From the ME’s initial report, it says Kram’s internal organs were accounted for. But they looked as if they had been handled, perhaps moved. Too much time had passed and the ME couldn’t be sure.”
“The time she spent in the water,” Teddy said. “He couldn’t make the call.”
“Her neck was broken as well.”
“Yes,” Teddy said. “Just the same as Darlene Lewis.”
“So if we know why the killer cut Lewis, that he wanted the tattoos, then what do you suppose he was thinking when he split Valerie Kram open?”
“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it.”
Nash swiveled his chair around. He looked tired. Spent. Like whatever was preying on his mind had cost him something.
“What two things does Philadelphia grow best?” he said.
Teddy shrugged. He wasn’t sure where Nash was going with the riddle.
“I want you to read a book tonight,” Nash said. “The Agony and the Ecstasy, by Irving Stone.”
Teddy found the idea of wasting the night reading a book more than disturbing. He was thinking about their search for Rosemary Gibb. If Nash had something, why wasn’t he just saying it so that they could move on? And what about the riddle? The two things the city grows best. What was that about?
“Time would seem to be of the essence,” Teddy said.
“It is,” Nash said, rising to his feet. “I hope you’re a fast reader. I’ve got an idea, Teddy, but I want you to confirm it. Call me as soon as you’re done.”
THIRTY-FIVE
There was a bookstore two blocks from the office on Walnut Street. Teddy flipped open his cell phone, entering his office number and filling Jill in as he wove through traffic on his way downtown. She offered to help and agreed to pick up two copies of The Agony and the Ecstasy, along with a pizza. With two people reading the book, they could get through the copy in half the time.
Teddy cleared the call, pulled Detective Ferarro’s card out of his pocket, and punched in his number at the missing persons unit. The detective picked up the call at his desk and recognized Teddy’s voice from earlier that afternoon.
“I need to know if there are any marks on the bodies,” Teddy said.
“What kind of marks on which bodies?” Ferarro asked.
“We can start with Rosemary Gibb, but I’m asking about the files on the ten girls you sent down to the homicide unit. The families gave you pictures and physical descriptions. I know you asked. Did Rosemary Gibb’s mother describe any marks on her body that would distinguish her from anyone else? Birthmarks, moles, or tattoos.”
There was a long pause. Teddy thought that he might have lost the connection. When the detective finally spoke up, Teddy recognized the concern in the detective’s voice and knew he had his ear.
“Where you going with this, Teddy? It sounds like you’ve got a body.”
“I’m on my way back to the office. I was just wondering about the marks. I noticed on the missing persons bulletins that nothing was mentioned.”
“If they had any distinguishing marks,” Ferarro said, “they would have been registered with the FBI and listed on the bulletin. Rosemary Gibb does not have a birthmark or a tattoo.”
“You get that from her mother?” Teddy asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because there’s the chance Rosemary might have a tattoo where it can’t be seen.”
“You’re forgetting that we interviewed her friend at the gym. She’s seen Rosemary in the shower. There aren’t any tattoos.”
“What about the others?”
“No one mentioned they had any either. You’re right when you said we ask. We always do.”
Teddy closed his phone. He knew that Ferarro didn’t want to end the conversation, but he was losing the signal on his cell as he pulled into the garage. He could tell the detective was suspicious. But keeping Ferarro suspicious was a positive step and reason enough to make the call and keep it short. It was in Rosemary’s best interest. It kept her file on top and might spark an idea in Ferarro’s head. Maybe the detective would hit on something and be moved to work the streets again.
Teddy found a place to park and hurried to the elevator. He found Jill in his office with two paperback copies of the book and a large pizza. Teddy picked up a copy as he sat down. The Agony and the Ecstasy was the novelization of Michelangelo’s life. This surprised him, and he could tell from the expression on Jill’s face that she was equally dumbfounded. He’d expected a book on crime, something that might shed light on the man they were looking for. Instead, this was a novel about the life of an artist. Even worse, the book looked long and the print was small.
“What’s going on?” Jill asked.
Teddy put the book down and reached for a slice of pizza. “Nash seems to think it’s important.”
“What’s Michelangelo have to do with Oscar Holmes?”
Teddy shrugged. “He gave me a riddle. What two things does the city grow best?”
She thought it over as she bit into a slice. Nothing came to mind for her either.
“Nash is weird, Teddy. I told you that before.”
She opened her briefcase, pulled out a paper she’d written in law school and handed it to him. Teddy glanced at the title page. She’d written it for Nash in her first year when criminal law was mandatory.
“It’s about his defense of the Venice Beach Strangler,” she said.
“How’d Nash do?”
“It depends on who you ask. Do you know where Venice Beach is?”
“Sure,” he said. “Just below Santa Monica in California.”
“Right. It’s not Italy, it’s Southern California. There’s a canal that winds through the city a few blocks from the beach. The homes along the canal are expensive. Beautiful.”
Teddy tore a second slice of pizza away from the pie, wondering what Jill was getting at.
“Once a month for six months,” she said, “the people who lived along the canal would wake up in the morning and find a body floating in the water outside their homes. They were always young women, raped and strangled to death. The police had a hard time identifying the bodies. There weren’t any clues and everyone was in a panic. After six months the murders stopped.”
“How’d they get the guy?” Teddy asked.
“The murders started again. Only this time the bodies were found in the hills along Mulholland Drive, just north of Beverly Hills. A homicide detective working out of the Hollywood Division put it together. He was looking for runaway kids that seemed to be disappearing from the streets. He had a house in the hills that he’d rebuilt after the earthquake, and it bothered him that someone was dumping bodies in his neighborhood. He worked the case on his own and discovered that a family had moved from the canals in Venice to Mulholland Drive. The dates and places the bodies were found matched the time of the move. It turned out the murderer was a twenty-year-old kid who still lived at home. He was psychotic. He hated his parents, and was dumping the bodies near the house to shake them up.”