“Rue said they already contacted the on-call pathologist.”
“Kerry Duchaine. Yes. I’ll call her and tell her I’m taking over. If it’s the same killer, then I should be the one to handle it.”
“Are you sure? What about Cosette?”
“She’s asleep. I’ll call the sitter and tell her what happened. She won’t mind.”
Kobe bobbed his head. “All right. Let’s go.”
13
Dominique
Kobe relayed the address,and we drove separately. I contacted Dr. Duchaine, the on-call pathologist, and told her I was in the area and would take over. She wasn’t upset since she’d been pulled from bed and gladly let me have the case.
Next, I called the babysitter, a high school student whom Cosette adored. She was happy to stay longer. I paid well, so most of the girls I hired were agreeable and flexible when it came to my ever-changing schedule. Besides, they all knew I didn’t care if they slept on the couch after Cosette was in bed, and I paid double after midnight, so win-win.
I parked behind Kobe, across from the Thompson Residence off Cumberland Street. The body had been discovered in a secluded quad behind the building. The local police had Cumberland and Copernicus Street blocked off, including the section of University Private that ran in between. Hordes of students had gathered outside a taped line, huddled against the cold, whispering to their fellow classmates.
After collecting my gear from the trunk of my car, I followed Kobe to the cordoned-off area where his partner waited, chatting with a uniformed constable. Our arrival—together—did not go unnoticed.
Detective Hayashi eyed me skeptically, offering a tight smile. “Evening, Doctor.” Her breath frosted the air. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
I tipped my head in greeting. “Change of plans. I’m going to get started.”
“I’ll be there in a few.” Kobe winked and touched my elbow. The December chill vanished, replaced by liquid heat that coated my insides.
I needed to focus. I had an important job to do, and getting lost in Kobe’s affections wouldn’t help.
The entire quad was lit with a half dozen floodlights. News traveled fast, especially on campus. Swarms of professionals were already on scene, doing all they could to control and contain: street patrol, paramedics, and crime scene investigators. Everyone looked half frozen, bouncing on the balls of their feet to keep warm as they blew on cold hands. The nighttime temperature had plummeted. So far, I didn’t see the press, but they would arrive soon enough. Among the crowd were a handful of frazzled university administrators.
With the approaching Christmas holiday and exams ending, campus bustle had died off. Many students had gone home, and the few that remained stayed indoors, hiding from the weather.
Tragedy had brought everyone to the quad.
I took mental notes of everything and everyone as I signed in, donned protective gear, and ducked under the tape. Rue had told Kobe that the MO matched the other victims. It wouldn’t take long for it to hit the news. Kobe had called it at the Apothecary. This was officially considered a serial, and the presence of a serial killer in Ottawa would put everyone onalert. I felt it already. Tension rippled through the air. Whispers traveled on the breeze. Everyone was on edge.
I secured a photographer from the CSI team and aimed for the center of the commotion.
Another body on another bench. Another flower and another note.
While the CSI photographer snapped pictures on my instruction, I admired the scene with a critical eye for detail. The presentation perfectly mirrored the second victim, right down to the location of the spike and the neatly folded clothes on the far side of the bench. Kobe called it escalation. I saw precision.
Kobe and his partner arrived as the photographer finished with the wider spectrum shots and moved closer to get the minute details that might easily be missed at first glance.
Kobe groaned and made a face, spinning in a circle as he tipped his head to the sky. “Ah, man. Through the penis again? What the hell is wrong with this perp?”
“It’s almost identical to the second killing,” his partner said, scrutinizing the scene.
Kobe’s head bobbed as he gave an unnecessary rundown. “Early to mid-twenties, naked, strangled, and… pierced.” Wincing, he blew out his cheeks, a cloud forming and dissipating into the cold night. “Why, why, why?”
“This is a gutsy location,” his partner said, glancing around. “And the time of night is risky. How did no one see it happen?”
She was right. This kill took courage, especially considering the potential for a busy quad and the time of day.
Kobe glanced around, nodding his agreement.
The victim’s neck had more abrasions than the first two and significantly more bruising, evidence that he’d fought a vicious battle for his life. The spike, although inserted exactly where Kobe announced, had fallen over. The flaccid penis had not provided a stable enough base. The white rose lay across theman’s upper thigh. The ribbon and note dangled in midair, spinning when the breeze blew.
