“Why is that?” Troy glared.
Boyle leaned forward, opened his desk drawer, reached in and withdrew a stack of files. Pushing them toward Troy, he said, “This is above all our paygrades.”
Troy walked out of the office, handing the stack of files to Trask.
“What the hell just happened?” Trask’s eyes widened.
“Damn if I know. We need to get back.” Troy climbed into the passenger seat and started scanning the files.
Troy’s phone connected with the Tahoe’s Bluetooth. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Greece,” the caller said.
“Are you the recorder, the cutter, or part of the male rapist pair?” Troy used what Boyle told him.
“This isn’t good for you, Greece. Your days protecting Gwenny are limited.” The line went dead.
Chapter 29
Troy sipped a Gatorade as he read what Boyle gave him about Gwen. There was a whole lot of nothing. He grabbed his brow between his thumb and forefinger. “Think. Any other victim.”
His eyes widened, and he picked up his phone. “Verna, I need you to find a Dr. Aron Bamberger at Rambam Hospital in Haifa, Israel.”
He laid out the files on the dead women. Their causes of death were all secondary to their attacks—asthma, cardiac, stroke, hypothermia.
He dialed the health center. “Seton, I need you to look at photographs for me.”
Eric was in Troy’s office in five minutes. “Got a call from Holland. Really, you lifted Gwen.”
“She was upset. I hugged her. I forced her to remember her time in that prison. I pushed her, and damn it, all of you wanted me to integrate my professional and personal lives. Well, I did it. Every damn word she said, I felt. I have very little time to figure out what happened to her and why it’s happening here.”
Troy exhaled. “I hate breaking a confidence. I researched chronic abscesses that could have affected Gwen. Could it have been caused by a miscarriage?”
Eric’s face remained blank. “I need to focus on you. From the beefed-up security, I know there’s a target on your back. And then we have your less-than-careful personal behavior. I need you to assure me you’ll put yourself first.”
Troy sighed. He knew Eric wasn’t going to respond to his question, which was confirmation enough. “I’ll do the best I can. That’s all I can promise, Eric.”
“What do you need?” Eric sat across from Troy.
“The number of victims is climbing. Tell me you see something that may help us figure out who this person is.” Troy’s eyes were somber as he handed Eric a stack of photographs.
Eric swallowed as he looked at the first picture. He looked at the second and third, then made his way through to the tenth before returning to the first. “These were all done by the same man. Every cut is precisely the same. Not close—the same. The cuts were made with a scalpel-type blade. Right circles, likely by someone left-handed.” He demonstrated the movements. “I can’t imagine the pain. These cuts required time.” He looked up at Troy.
“Now, the men. What ties them to the women? Then we will know why,” Troy said.
Eric cocked his head, his eyebrows knitting. “Were the men attacked before the women or after?”
Troy grabbed his graphs. “From what I can see, starting in 2014, there is one male attacked one week after every female victim, with six exceptions. My guess, five didn’t report. And the last is a big unknown. Gwen was attacked in late 2012 to 2013, and someone threw her away. She was never supposed to make it home.” Troy’s head dropped. “Thanks, Eric.”
“I’ll type up my report. It will be done by tonight—and, please, behave.”
Troy shook away the case for a few minutes and organized his ten-day plan to cover his hospitalization. Papa Team was assigned to him, Quebec Team to Gwen. The remaining San Diego Eagle's Talon teams were deployed or about to be deployed, except for the decimated Zulu Team. Troy scanned phone directory Verna left for him and tapped the keys.
“DC Health, Mr. Hanlon’s office,” a chipper woman’s voice answered.
“Troy Bremen for Hanlon.”
“I’m sorry, he’s gone for the day. May I take a message?”
“I need a report on Tobey O’Mara’s condition.”
