"There's another possibility," Maggie said. She wasn't looking at any of them but gazing at the bagged note. "The blood could be hers. Whoever sent the note… could have found her body."
Andy looked at her steadily. "You think she's dead?"
"Yes. I think she's dead."
John was also watching her face, and as she spoke he felt a little chill of certainty. Maggie didn't just think Samantha Mitchell was dead. She knew it.
Kendra slipped back into the passenger side of the car and said, "Let's go-before one of those guys back there decides to ask for a closer look at my I.D." She removed the camera strap from around her neck and returned the camera to its case.
Quentin pulled the car smoothly away from the curb half a block up from the Mitchell house. "That I.D. is designed to stand up to scrutiny, you know."
"Even so, no reason to push it."
"Okay. So, did you get anything useful?"
"The reporters all bought the kidnapping story-at first. But whether because the Blindfold Rapist is better copy or somebody just reasoned it out, now they're pretty much agreed that it's probably just an attempt to cash in on the disappearance."
"Mmm. Any ideas on who might be making that attempt?"
"None they were willing to share with me."
"You mean your charm had no effect on them?"
"Not so you'd notice."
"Or your big brown eyes?"
"I suppose they all prefer blue."
"Or your uniquely flexible mind?"
"That barely impresses you." Kendra pulled a small black address book from her shoulder bag and began turning the pages. "What we need is someone who knows the disreputable side of Seattle a lot better than we do."
"You forget-Seattle was my childhood home."
"I didn't forget. But you've been away from here- what?-twenty years?"
"About that, but I come back for regular visits."
"Still, I imagine things might have changed around here since your childhood."
"Sure, which is why I keep in touch with people who have a very firm finger on the pulse of this place. Joey, for instance. Joey is a living testament to the adage that only the good die young. Because if the bad died young, Joey would have dropped in his crib."
"You think he might have sent that note?"
"No, figuring out and executing a plan of any kind would take Joey longer than a few hours. Give him a few weeks, and he might come up with something, but not a few hours. I think he might know who did come up with the kidnapping idea, though. If anybody would know, it would be Joey."
"And do you know where we can find him?"
"Give me ten minutes," Quentin said.
It turned out to be an optimistic estimate, but knowing her partner, Kendra was ready for that. In a distinctly seedy neighborhood, she waited patiently at the end of a long alley Quentin had disappeared into, keeping one eye on their car while standing ready to back him up if need be. For the half hour or so he was gone, she politely refused three invitations for a "date" and not so politely warned off an interested pimp.
When Quentin reappeared abruptly, she said, "You picked this corner deliberately, didn't you?"
He grinned. "Still a busy place for the trade, huh?"
"Bastard," she said without heat.
"Well, I knew you could take care of yourself. Think of it as a compliment."
"Yeah, right." She eyed him and waited.
"Okay, I've got to know," he said. "What was the top offer?"
"You seriously expect me to tell you what several lonely men offered for my body?"
"Several?"
"Don't push it, Quentin."
He grinned again. "Who knows when we might have to go undercover in the trade, and I'd need to know your street worth, that's all."
"Go to hell," she said politely. "Did you or did you not find out where Joey is?"
"I did."
"Then let's go."
Five minutes later, sitting beside him in their car, Kendra said, "Five hundred."
Astonished, Quentin said, "As much as that? Jeez, either the streets around here have changed since my day, or inflation must be a real factor."
"Bastard!" she said, this time with considerable heat.
John closed the folder containing the forensics report on the Mitchell house as well as case notes and a photograph of the missing woman, lifted a questioning brow at Maggie, and when she shook her head pushed the file back across the table to Andy. "Thanks for letting me take a look," he said. "Not that I see anything helpful."
"That's the way it always is with the disappearances. Not a damned thing to go on. And not much more when the women are found."
She knew it wasn't a pointed reference, but Maggie nevertheless said, "I wish I could give you a sketch of this animal, Andy. But he's been so careful, none of the victims have been able to remember any helpful details."
"I know that, Maggie."
"I should try talking to Ellen Randall again. I wanted to give her a few days to calm down after-"
"After I intruded and messed things up," John finished. "I really am sorry about that."
Maggie nodded. "I know. She probably wasn't ready to talk to me then anyway. And I doubt she'll be able to give me anything useful. But I have to try. I'll call her this afternoon, find out if she'll meet with me, maybe tomorrow."
"Here?" Andy asked.
"I think I'll leave it up to her. She might be far more comfortable at home."
"Well, let me know if you'll need an interview room."
"Okay."
Andy tapped the Mitchell file with one finger. "So that's where we stand," he said. "On the Mitchell investigation, at any rate. I've got people out trying to find out what they can about this damned note, and I've got people looking for Samantha Mitchell-dead or alive. Since there's not much more we can do in either case, at least for the time being, there's something else we wanted to discuss with you two."
John glanced at the two younger detectives, then looked steadily at Andy. "I had a feeling there was."
"I wasn't keeping anything back because of orders but because this is… pretty far-fetched, John."
"In what way?"
Andy leaned back and gestured slightly toward the other cops, clearly inviting them to explain.
Jennifer said, "We were sure this guy was picking particular women, but with all the varied descriptions of them and where he grabbed them, nothing pointed to how, to any sort of common denominator. And even though we're pretty sure he's been active only for six months or so, we kept hearing from the shrink that his ritual was too well established to be so recent. So Scott and I started wondering if maybe he was getting his ideas from somewhere specific. Like maybe accounts of old, unsolved crimes."
"I wouldn't call that far-fetched," John commented. "In fact, it sounds pretty reasonable."
"It is reasonable-except for what we found when we started digging through files."
"Which was?" Maggie asked.
John glanced at her quickly, suddenly aware of another of those odd little certainties; this was something else she knew.
"Which was a little creepy," Jennifer said. "What we found was a very similar string of rape-murders that took place here in Seattle in 1934. Six women for certain, though possibly eight in all, killed within an eighteen-month period."
"So he is copying earlier crimes," John said.
"Here's the creepy part." Jennifer rose from the table and went to flip one of the bulletin boards so that they could all see the other side. Under the heading 2001, four photographs were pinned in a vertical row, pictures of Laura Hughes, Christina Walsh, Ellen Randall, and Hollis Templeton. Beside that row and under the heading 1934 was another row, this one containing three sketches and two photos.
"You'll notice," Jennifer said, "that the first sketch done in 1934 shows a woman virtually identical to Laura Hughes. The second sketch is pretty amateur and didn't help them I.D. the victim, but it and the description of her taken together closely match Ellen Randall. The third sketch is backed up by a photograph, and as you can see, this victim resembled Hollis Templeton. We only have a crime-scene photo of the fourth victim, but the description matches Christina Walsh."