Anxiously, Anthea looked at May and Owen. "That's all I can tell you. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," May assured her. "You've given us enough to follow up on. Thank you."
The crimes sounded identical. Without a doubt, this was a serial killer at work. The only problem was that he'd vanished into thin air. No clues then, and no clues now.
Except for one possibility that still lay ahead.
The postmortem would hopefully be completed by now. With these results, and the historic results from the old crime, the bodies themselves might hold secrets to this murderer's identity.
It was time to uncover them.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"I think we must head to the pathologist's office now," May murmured to Owen as soon as they were out of that house where a feeling of sadness still seemed to hang in the air.
"You think they will have done the postmortem?"
"I'm hoping so. And we can call ahead and ask Andy to get the results of Dave Tyne's postmortem also. With the two sets of results, I hope we'll be able to see some common attributes. Maybe enough to give us a clearer picture of the killer," she said.
"I'll make the call while you drive," Owen suggested.
"Good idea."
The pathologist's offices were in Chestnut Hill, a bigger town that neighbored May's hometown of Fairshore, and were also near Southbrook. May guessed it would be a ten-minute drive, and she hoped that there would be answers waiting on the other side of it.
As they drove, Owen made the call. "It's Deputy Owen Lovell. Is the Ed Blair postmortem finished, please?" he asked. He paused. "Great. I'll also need the results of the Dave Tyne postmortem. That was done about two years ago, and it would also have been in these offices."
May turned on the main road and sped toward Chestnut Hill as Owen discussed the details. He cut the call with a satisfied nod. "They're making both sets of results available to us now," he said.
"Oh, that's great," May said, feeling relieved.
"You know, May, I often think it's a plus to be in a small town at times like this," Owen admitted. "Things get done so efficiently here. We might not be the FBI, but we have a personal relationship with everyone we work with."
"I agree," May said.
“I do sometimes wish we had more technology to work with,” Owen said, “especially in serious cases. I sometimes dream that we have access to all the latest state-of-the-art equipment, even things that aren’t invented yet. Those are great dreams, and I must say I feel like I come back to earth with a crash when I wake up.”
“You know, I think I remember you saying that in your sleep,” May said. A couple of the times when he’d slept over at her place, she’d heard him twitching and talking in his sleep and muttering things like, “Get the DNA tracer over here,” and “We can follow them by light beam.”
Now, she knew what he’d been talking about. He’d been having dreams of a fantasy police world where things worked better, and that thought made her feel strangely cheered.
But Owen was now blushing, and May remembered that they needed to keep personal and working lives strictly separated at this pressured time.
The mention of the FBI brought Kerry to mind again. She'd be waiting in her hotel room, impatiently working remotely until May gave the word that she was all wrapped up.
May knew there was a chance that if Kerry's work got busy, she might need to fly out of town. If a new case landed, her sister would no longer be available to help out here. It was all the more reason to make sure things happened fast, May thought. They needed to get back to the house where Harriet had been holed up and take that second look.
She turned off the main road and headed up the hill to the pathologist's offices, which adjoined one of the office parks and warehouse areas in Chestnut Hill. Parking outside the neat, modern building, May hurried inside with Owen.
When they arrived at the pathologist's offices, May could see that their call had been taken seriously. As soon as the receptionist saw them, she waved them through.
"Please, go on in and speak to Andy. He's all wrapped up with the postmortem."
May hurried down the corridor to the autopsy room at the end, stopping on the way to put on a mask. Then, she tapped on the door and heard Andy Baker reply, "Come on in."
Inside, Andy was standing in the middle of the room, a clipboard in his hands, jotting down a few notes, with a serious expression on his face.
"It was very good work to match up that earlier case," he said. "Without a doubt, we've got a serial killer here. I didn't do the first postmortem, but looking at the results of it, the MO is identical."
