He was good at this, he knew that. Efficient. Not cruel. But tonight he had found out he still needed to improve, to become even more efficient.
As he climbed back into the truck, his stomach settled. On the long drive home he would lay the groundwork for the next message. He would redouble his efforts to know everything about the recipients beforehand. When he delivered the next message, and the one after that and the one after that, he would be more detached, more untouchable.
Tonight could never happen again.
The snow and the rain did not stop the postman on his appointed rounds, right? Or dogs or even screaming little girls.
Chapter Fifteen
Laurene met the sheriff’s gaze. “Mr. Hanson found something terrible, all right — his family dead.”
“Yes. Wife and daughter, both shot twice in the chest. You already know that your bullets from Florida match ours.”
“We understand Mr. Hanson took his own life.”
“Yes. Killed himself a week after the murders. Snapped. Hanged himself.”
Why, she wondered, was this killer punishing these men? Public servants coming home to slaughtered love ones? Or were fathers being punished?
She asked, “Who did the crime scene analysis at the Hanson home?”
“State BCI. We don’t have the tools for that kind of investigation.”
“What did they find?”
Fox held up a sheaf of photos. “You’ll want to look at these. Autopsy got us the bullets.”
“You think the photos should be helpful...?”
“Not my area, Ms. Chase. They’re crime scene photos, and maybe they’ll mean more to you.”
“What did you get from the photos, Sheriff? And from being on the scene?”
He thought for a moment. Then: “Guy was real careful. No fingerprints, no witnesses, and he collected the shell casings from the automatic. Only evidence they gathered were some tire tracks that didn’t match either of the Hanson vehicles.”
“Do you have those results?”
The sheriff nodded. “You take the photos and the tire marks information info too — these are dupes. When we’re finished here, I’ll request the BCI e-mail their files to you.”
“Thank you, Sheriff,” Laurene said, passing the folder of pictures to Carmen, who began thumbing through. The tire mark evidence Laurene gave to Choi.
“I’ll get started on these,” Choi said, glancing at the several sheets. The tool mark and firearms expert squeezed past the cameraman in the doorway, and was gone.
Turning back to Fox, Laurene asked, “Who interviewed the neighbors?”
“I did — but ‘neighbors’ overstates it. Neighbors are few and far between out that way. Nearest one’s almost a quarter of a mile away.”
Another similarity to the Harrow case, Laurene noted.
“What time of day did the crime take place?”
She knew the answer, of course — actually, she knew a lot of the answers. This was part of the Killer TV process: getting somebody like the sheriff here to deliver the exposition. Still, she liked getting this kind of stuff from the source.
The sheriff said, “Just before seven p.m.”
“Were the not-so-next-door neighbors home?”
“Yeah, only they didn’t hear anything. You wouldn’t expect them to — windy night, even for around here. Anyway, they could have missed the sound even if they’d been closer.”
Laurene asked Carmen, “Do you have any questions?”
“Actually, yes.” Carmen withdrew two photos from the folder, showing them to Fox.
One was a picture of the daughter’s room, where nothing appeared out of place — bed made, stuffed animals piled near pillows. A small table to the right of the bed was home to a considerable collection of snow globes, Disney characters mostly, whose familiar faces and forms were turned toward the bed. A desk held a computer, and, above it, shelves displayed the spines of DVDs and books, all neatly arranged. The second picture was a closeup of the table with the snow globe collection.
Fox looked at the photos with eyes that indicated he was well beyond seeing anything in these much-viewed crime scene shots.
Carmen asked, “Did you dust that room for prints?”
“Why, no.”
“How about the state crime lab? Were you there when they processed the scene?”
“I was. They didn’t consider the bedroom part of the crime scene.”
“So they didn’t check the Winnie the Pooh snow globe for fingerprints?”
Perplexed, the sheriff said, “Nobody thought the killer went in that room — nothing was out of place.”
Carmen leaned in and tapped the closeup shot of the snow globes. “Except Winnie the Pooh,” she said.
“Be damned,” Fox said, and shook his head and grimaced, handing the closeup picture to Laurene.
Laurene looked at the photo. The snow globes all faced the same direction, except one — Winnie the Pooh had his back to the bed.
“He picked that one up,” Laurene said.
“Well, someone did,” Fox said. “We’ll see if we can find out who.”
“If the whole family has been dead for almost two years,” Laurene asked, “where’s the snow globe now?”
“No idea,” Fox admitted glumly. “But I am damned sure going to find out.”
To Carmen, Laurene said, “Hell of a catch, girl. That’s two for you. Maybe it’s time you joined the crime scene team and I took over as host.”
Carmen smiled, chagrined. “I’m happy doing what I do.”
Everyone on the Crime Seen! team was aware that all of this had been caught on camera. Funny, Laurene thought, how the knowledge that they were putting on a show as well as chasing a killer colored her perceptions.
Fox said, “I should mention there’s a new family living in the house now. You want to go out there?”
After a moment’s consideration, Laurene said, “Let us run with what you’ve given us for right now. If we need to visit the scene, we’ll go out later.”
“But you will call me if you go?”
“Absolutely, Sheriff. You’d be a big help. Hey, you’ve been a big help. Thank you.”
“No problem. Who wouldn’t want this thing cracked? Now, can I ask a question...?”
“Of course.”
“Is this the same bastard who killed J.C. Harrow’s family?”
Laurene locked eyes with the man. “Can’t be sure... but it’s very damn likely the ‘same bastard’ who took out the Ferguson mom and kids in Florida.”
Fox sighed. “You’re covering a lot of hunting ground.”
“Yes. But we are closing in. We know to a near certainty that he’s targeting only the families of civil servants.”
The dark brown eyes flared. “Why in hell?”
“Pretty soon, Sheriff... we’ll ask him.”
After their good-byes, Laurene, Carmen, and the camera crew caught up with Jenny and Choi in the lab.
Choi took the balclass="underline" “First, the tires are so worn, he coulda replaced them by now.”
Laurene just gave him a look.
“Tire size 275/70R18, is very popular for light trucks and SUVs. This particular one’s manufactured by Michelin, and is the standard tire on the Ford F-150 pickup.”
“Does that help us?”
“Oh, sure,” Choi said, his smile mirthless. “Thanks to declining sales over the last five years? Leaves us only about four million F-150s, plus whatever vehicles bought them as aftermarket tires.”
“So, then, that was sarcasm.”
“I been saying you aren’t dumb, Laurene. Ask anybody.”