Dailey took a Styrofoam cup from his briefcase and filled it with the steaming contents of container number one.
"Cream or sugar?"
I shook my head and forced a polite smile.
"Let's begin." Coursey cleared his throat, preparing for lecture mode. "There have been several terminal occurrences over the past ten --"
I had to interrupt. "Terminal occurrences?"
"Murders."
Jesus.
"As I was saying, there have been several terminal occurrences over the past ten years in the United States that may have possible connections to the Jane Doe found here two days ago."
Dailey jumped in. "Serial or recreational killers usually have distinct patterns and modus operandi that make it possible, with the help of Vicky --"
"Vicky?" I asked.
"The ViCAT computer."
"Ah."
"That make it possible, with Vicky's help, to find links between victims."
"You mean terminal occurrences," I corrected.
"Exactly."
I sipped my coffee, and noted with annoyance that it was very good.
"You read through our report on why we believe the perp is organized rather than unorganized, correct?"
"Absolutely." I recalled dropping it in the garbage on the way to my car.
"Here's another report, a list of related crimes that Vicky has linked with the pattern established by our RK here."
"RK?"
"Recreational Killer."
"Ah."
I wondered if there was a special branch of the FBI whose sole function was to make up acronyms.
"Vicky has also listed probability percentile rankings."
Dailey nodded smartly, as if waiting for a cookie or a pat on the head. They must have taken my silence for deep thought, because they waited patiently for me to say something before they went on.
"Mmm," I said.
They went on.
"There are seven possible connections on this list."
"We'll give them to you in ascending order of probability."
"First, on May first in 1976 in Hackensack, New Jersey, there was a double shotgun homicide where the suspect was unknown."
I wouldn't be baited.
"What's the connection, you're thinking?" Dailey asked.
Actually, I was thinking that once, when I was younger, I had actually considered joining the FBI. We're all entitled to moments of stupidity, I suppose.
"The connection is that after the murders, the bodies were mutilated," Coursey said.
"With a fork," Dailey added.
"Six point three percent probability it's the same guy." Coursey nodded smartly. I think they practiced nodding smartly in the mirror.
I rubbed my eyes, getting some eyeliner on my fingers. For what I paid for eyeliner, it shouldn't come off that easily.
"Gentlemen, I have a lot of work to do. If you'll just leave the paperwork, I'll go over it as soon as I can."
"Your captain assured us that you'd give us your full cooperation, Lieutenant."
"And I intend to, Agent Dailey."
"I'm Coursey."
"I intend to, Agent Coursey. But my captain also expects me to have all of my reports done on time. I have a backlog of six cases I still haven't transferred, and there were two more shooting deaths in my district last night that need to be attended to."
"Were those shotgun deaths?" Coursey raised his eyebrows.
"No. Now thanks for your help, but right now I've got other things to do."
I stood up. Dailey and Coursey did their looking at each other thing, and then got to their feet as well.
"I just hope we treat you with greater courtesy when the jurisdiction for this case is turned over to us." Dailey nodded curtly.
Coursey added a curt nod of his own.
"I'm sure you will." I walked around my desk and sat down in my chair, which was unpleasantly warm. They gathered up their respective papers and headed for the door, but a lingering thought made me stop them.
"Guys -- your computer, Vicky, does it handle more than just terminal occurrences?"
"Yes. It is also a nationwide database for felonies such as rape, arson, and bank robberies."
"How about poisoning? Product tampering?"
They nodded as one. I told them about the package I'd gotten earlier, ending the story by showing them the lethal X ray.
"Would your computer be able to locate other tamperings like this one?"
"I believe so. Can we keep this?"
I nodded, giving them directions to the lab so they could check out the goods themselves. Maybe, for the first time, the FBI would help out rather than get in the way. Hope springs eternal.
I wasn't lying about the backlog of cases, and after making a few calls and filling out a few reports, I transferred them all so I could devote my full attention to the Jane Doe murder. Going over the case again from the beginning didn't yield any new information, but it helped me organize the info I did have.
Lab report pending, I was 99 percent sure that Dr. Booster and our Jane Doe had been killed by the same perp. He was calling himself the Gingerbread Man, and after forcing Booster to write him a prescription for Seconal, he used it to abduct Jane Doe.
The note and the cookie were messages to the police, and there was a good indication that there would be more deaths. Sixty mls of Seconal was enough to knock out twenty to thirty people. Why ask for that much if he didn't intend to use it?
I scribbled a note to myself to call the DEA and check to see if they had any stats on Seconal ODs. I also wanted to call up Vice and see if Seconal had been used in any recent rapes. Jane Doe may be the first murder, but she may not be the first person our perp used Seconal on.
I picked up the packet of pictures from the crime scene and looked through them for the hundredth time. Something in my subconscious made me linger on a photo of the girl in the garbage can, her rear end sticking out. I studied it further. There was garbage covering almost the whole body, except for the buttocks. But why so much garbage, if it hadn't been in the can for more than an hour or two?
Maybe he arranged the garbage like that. Almost as if he were saying that he threw away a piece of ass. The FBI called it posing, and I was surprised I hadn't received a lecture on that as well. Positioning the body like this was the perp's way of showing how clever he was, and how much contempt he had for the victim. So did he take the time to do this in plain sight, or...
I picked up the report with the itemized list of all the garbage found in the can with the body. Mixed in with the cans and bags and wrappers and bottles were twelve receipts. The prices on the receipts were noted on the list, but not what I was after.
I picked up the phone and called Evidence.
"Bill? Jack Daniels."
Bill had been caretaker of the evidence room since I was a rookie. He was older than God.
"Jack? How are you? I was thinking about you this morning, in the shower."
"You should be ashamed, a man your age."
"Chris is on his break. You could come down now. We'll go behind the storage lockers."
I laughed. "You're too much man for me, Bill, but I could use a favor. I need you to look up something from case 93-10-06782. Receipts that were found in the garbage can with a body."
"That the Jane Doe got all cut up?"
"Yeah."
"Hold on."
He put down the phone, and I heard the sliding gate unlock and imagined him walking through the aisles of shelves in the evidence room, looking for the proper case number. I finished my coffee while waiting, then regretted my haste because now I'd have to drink the awful station slop. Eventually I would break down and get a coffeemaker, because the stuff from the vending machine tasted like brewed sewage.
I put off getting more coffee and looked at the latest sheet the Feebies left. Their number one suspect match had a 48.6 percent probability rate that it was our guy. The murder and mutilation of three women with a hunting knife was unsolved, and I was ready to call the Feds and ask for more info on this case when I noticed it took place in 1953. In Nome, Alaska. I filed the paper, throwing my empty coffee cup in after it.