“Malik Quinn. Twenty-three. Law student and one of Jesse’s cohorts. Our unsub is either spiraling, or things didn’t go as planned and they panicked. The scene was a mess. All the order of the first three kills was gone.”
“We said that would happen. His turnaround is too quick. He’s not taking time to cool off and think. He’s losing control.”
“Or trying to accomplish a goal before they chicken out.”
Rue made a noise of consideration.
“Plus, I’m convinced it’s a woman.”
“Oh?” I ignored the gratifying lilt. “Why?”
I told her about the body and everything I’d learned about Malik-the-Law-Student-Quinn and his acquittal. I told her about the spike that didn’t stick in the penis and the crushed rose. I told her about the message and the scattered clothing. Lastly, I told her about the swatch of fabric caught in the zipper, the tangle of dark hair, and my suspicions that it was a lady’s fashion scarf like I’d seen a few people wearing during our interviews.
Rue remained silent for a long time after I finished speaking.
“Well?” I asked.
“You could be right. This has all the markers of a vindication for assault.”
“Rape, Rue. I’d bet my badge it was rape. Gang rape. Be it three of them or four of them, or maybe we have more bodies yet to fall.”
“Rape,” she agreed sullenly.
“The agenda could explain the quick turnaround. They’re afraid. They want it done and over with as fast as possible. Like you said. Before they chicken out. They’re cracking. Making mistakes.”
More silence.
“Rue?”
“They’re taking back control from the people who stole it. They want their life back.” Quieter, Rue added, “It won’t fix them. The damage is done. They can’t go back to before.”
I clenched my fists, repressing my anger. “So, you agree our unsub is a woman? And don’t fucking gloat. I know I said it wasn’t possible, but I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“I think it’s a strong possibility. A personal vendetta, but we can’t dismiss that it could be someone close to the supposed rape victim.”
“What about the hair? The perfume? The pointed messages? They are marking the scene. It’s all so feminine.”
“Long, dark hair, you said?”
“Yeah. I don’t have an exact shade, nor do I know if it was dyed, but it was definitely dark in color. Dominique said the analysis will take a millennium.”
Neither of us spoke, but I sensed Rue, even as sick as she was, putting the pieces together.
“You need to bring Fatemeh in for an interview,” Rue said. “A proper interview. On our turf.”
“Why her? What about the other women on campus? What about Blaze? What about Cheyenne or those other girls? If I’m bringing in Fatemeh, I should technically bring them all in.”
“In that case, what about Neo or Laurent St. Pierre?
“The scarf belongs to a woman.”
“Men don’t wear scarves or have long hair?”
“Not the ones we’ve talked to. Why are you being like this?”
“Are you saying Neo couldn’t be seeking justice for his sister? Maybe Laurent St. Pierre went after a group of boys who took advantage of his daughter. One of them ran from the city the second her sister graduated. Why is that? We could name a dozen names, Kobe. I agree with you. The chances are higher that we are looking for a woman, but don’t dismiss an entire gender. Start with Fatemeh.”
I bit my tongue and stopped arguing. Rue was right. We could point fingers at a dozen people, considering we were riding on a metric ton of speculation and not a whole lot of evidence.
