Heath’s dark brown eyebrows went up. “One look and you’re that sure?”
“Your perp got off on the violence, wanted to draw it out. He wasn’t careful. Blood everywhere. Likely left fingerprints.” He looked up. “I’m guessing you got DNA?”
Heath nodded. “Got semen. Hair follicles. Fingerprints. Blood beneath the victim’s nails.”
“And?”
Heath shook his head. “That’s the bad news. Nothing in AFIS. Nothing anywhere that we’ve turned up so far. We’re hoping for a DNA match, but—”
“But if he isn’t in the system, he isn’t in the system. You’re probably not going to find a DNA match either.”
“You could be right.”
“Maybe that’s the reason he didn’t care what evidence he left behind. Maybe he isn’t quite as crazy as he seems. Maybe he knew he didn’t have to worry about you finding him. At least not through the system.”
Ethan wandered slowly through the living room, careful not to step in any blood, then moved into the bedroom. The bed hadn’t been made, but it didn’t look recently slept in.
“What was she wearing?”
“G-string and pasties under a red silk robe.”
“So she hadn’t had time to change after she got home. Wonder why she didn’t change at the club.”
“House is just blocks away. I’ll ask, but it’s probably just her normal routine.”
Ethan’s gaze went to the bedroom window. It was open, the screen pulled off. “Guy went into the backyard, came in through the window.”
He walked over to the closet. The sliding doors were open. He could see where the clothes had been pushed aside. “Hid in the closet till she was in the house, then went after her. The neighbors hear anything?”
“If they did, they aren’t talking. Good chance he caught her by surprise. No time to scream, sound any kind of alarm.”
That was Ethan’s thinking. “Where was the note?”
“On the coffee table, next to the body.”
He started nodding as the picture began to form in his head. “Killer saw the photo of the note on TV. Damned media showed it to the public and described it in detail. Started calling him the Hellfire Preacher. Killer liked the idea, got himself juiced up just thinking about what he was going to do.”
They walked back into the living room for a final look around. Ethan briefly checked the kitchen, but it didn’t look like Mandy had made it that far. He and Heath walked back out on the porch.
The detective paused at the top of the steps. “So it’s not your guy. I guess that means you’re done here.”
“Not by a long shot. Whoever did this couldn’t get to one of the models, so he killed Mandy Gee. He’s scored a big victory. We don’t have squat, so now he thinks he’s smarter than the police. There’s every chance he’ll go after his original target. Thanks to the media, he’s got the names of all the women who received one of the original notes.”
“Or he might just figure any one of the models is fair game.”
“Yeah.”
“So . . . you gonna help me find him?”
Ethan smiled grimly. “You can bet on it.”
Val and Meg sat side by side on one of the plush red-velvet wraparound seats on the limousine bus. The vehicle, designed to hold up to forty people, was equipped with color TVs, CDs and DVDs, a satellite tracking system, and a fully stocked bar.
Rehearsal was over. They were headed back to the Ritz. Dirk was aboard and so was Beau Desmond and his right-hand man, Bick Gallagher. Val wasn’t crazy about either one of them. Beau was a control freak and Gallagher believed he was God’s gift to women. At least they seemed capable of doing their jobs.
During the bus ride, she phoned her mom in Bellingham and asked how Pops was doing.
“Lord, you know you can’t keep that man down. Doctor says it was probably the flu. He’s outside feeding the chickens or I’d put him on.”
