“No. The other scenes held between thirty and forty with an average of thirty-three,” she murmured. “There are only twenty here.” They were buried beneath an inch of snow, their petals frozen and eerily dark.
“Maybe he’s running out,” Monty said, turning and coughing.
“Or he’s keeping more for his next victim.” Laurel looked around. “There’s not enough blood here. Was she killed inside?”
Monty shook his head. “No. She was killed in the backyard, which is hidden from the neighbors by tall trees. The techs are processing now. Want to go back there?”
“After they’re finished,” Laurel said.
“There are signs of a fight in the master bedroom, and it looks like he went in a basement window. No security system, and so far, none of the gawking neighbors have come forward with any information,” Monty said grimly, visibly shaking with cold.
Huck planted a hand on one of his shoulders. “Thanks for this, Monty. I’ve got it from here.”
Laurel nodded. The man needed rest and warmth, not death and arctic air. “We’ll call you later with updates.”
Officer Zello jogged up, his mustache white with frost. “Morning.”
Huck lowered his chin.
Laurel studied the officer, watching for any nuance that could tell her what he was thinking. She didn’t have honed instincts or gut reactions to people, but she spent time every chance she found memorizing facial and body-expression studies. “Who was she?”
He flipped open his notebook. “Driver’s license inside the purse by the doorway says she’s Eleanor Bove with this address as her physical one.” He kept reading. “I did a quick look online on my phone and found the same woman, similar picture, listed as the owner of Dr. Bove Dentistry.” He looked over his shoulder at the body. “The body is correct height and weight to be Dr. Bove, but we’ll need DNA to be positive. Can’t tell a thing from her face.” Regret seemed to fill his voice. Or was it sorrow? She couldn’t get the vibrations of people’s emotions that her mother said were possible.
Huck scrubbed a bruised hand through his messy hair. “Why wasn’t she on our radar? Did you check police reports?”
Officer Zello nodded. “Yeah. There’s nothing on the local or state level.”
“Nothing on the federal, either,” Laurel murmured. She would’ve been instantly informed. “So the woman wasn’t being stalked?” The deviation from the killer’s pattern disturbed her. Or had Dr. Bove just not reported any incidences?
Huck shrugged. “I’ll be back.” He put an arm over Monty’s shoulders and all but forced the captain to a Fish and Wildlife rig, where he ordered an officer to take Monty home. Aeneas remained in place, watching them go.
Officer Zello cleared his throat. “Agent Snow? Your sister said she was busy last night and that she’d call me, but she hasn’t. Is that normal or is it the brushoff?” He shuffled his feet.
“My educated guess? She’s brushing you off,” Laurel said honestly. Abigail used people, and the officer was no longer of use to her.
“Hey. Hey. Let me through,” a man bellowed.
Laurel turned to see a round-faced thirty-something man in jeans and a sweater, no coat, trying to shove his way past two officers. His glasses were fogged from the steam of his breath. She turned and strode toward him while Huck approached from the other direction. “Who are you?”
He fought uselessly against the burly officers. “Let me in. That’s my wife. Or ex-wife. Whatever. Is it Ellie? What happened? Let go of me.” His thin face turned red.
“Stop for a second.” Laurel held up a hand and waited until he’d given up fighting and just stood there, panting. “Who are you?”
“I’m Jay Martin. I live just around the corner and woke up to see the police lights out my back window. What happened? Is Ellie okay?” He craned his neck and then went stark white as he apparently spotted the body. “Oh God. Tell me that’s not Ellie.”
Huck pivoted to block his view. “We don’t have an identity yet. But tell us about Ellie.”
Jay clamped his hands to his thighs and partially bent over, gasping for air.
Laurel waited until he’d stood, his chest still wheezing. “Mr. Martin, we need help. You said Eleanor was your ex-wife?”
“Yes.” Tears gathered in his eyes. “We divorced a year ago because I made a mistake.” He gagged. “Had an affair with the gal at the coffee stand on Fourth—it didn’t mean anything. She made me feel smart, you know?” He kicked a chunk of ice.
“What do you do?” Laurel asked.
He flushed. “I’m in construction, but I’m between jobs right now.”
“I see.” Laurel took in his body language. He was embarrassed about that? Was he furious with women who were more successful than he? “Was there any sign your ex-wife was being stalked?”
