His athletic shoes squeaked slightly as he crossed the lobby. He extended his hand. “Vaughan. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you in the cycling group.”
“Launching Nate has been all-consuming for the last few weeks,” Vaughan said.
“He has been delivered to college?” Baldwin asked.
“Thirty-six hours ago.”
“I’d ask you if you missed him, but judging by the news, I’d say you’ve not had time.”
Vaughan knew life would slow, and he would have real time to miss Nate. He dreaded it. “This is Special Agent Zoe Spencer.”
“I believe we spoke on the phone over the summer,” she said, extending her hand.
“The Jane Doe skull, a.k.a. Marsha Prince. I saw the pictures of your facial reconstruction work,” he said. “Nice job.”
“Thank you.”
“As you know, I did examine the bones and found knife marks on one of the ribs.”
“Can you inspect the bones again?” Spencer asked. “Look at the neck vertebrae especially.”
“You think the same killer?” Baldwin asked.
“I don’t want to rule it out,” she said.
Baldwin nodded, letting out a sigh. “I can tell you how Jane Doe died. Come on down to the autopsy suite, and I’ll brief you.” They rode the elevators down a couple of floors. The doors opened to a long white hallway lit by high-wattage fixtures. Vents blasted cool air as they made their way to the storage room.
They each donned latex gloves as Baldwin crossed to a bank of drawers reserved for the dead. He opened number 202 and pulled out a slab that held a sheet-clad body.
Baldwin carefully drew back the sheet to expose a drawn face that was blackening due to decomposition. The chest was marked with a sutured Y incision.
“She’s a Caucasian female in her mid- to late thirties,” Baldwin said. “Judging by her teeth and bones, she enjoyed reasonably good health and nutrition. She was approximately five foot three inches tall, and she died as a result of multiple stab wounds. The lethal cut was across her neck, severing the carotid artery.”
“Like Galina Grant?” Vaughan asked.
“Almost identical, and judging by the jagged marks on the wounds found on both women, I’d say a similar knife was used. The wounds were also deep. There were no minor stab wounds, which would have suggested hesitation.”
“Which would suggest worry or inexperience,” Spencer said. “This guy is comfortable with killing.”
“I would agree,” Baldwin said.
“Were you able to get fingerprints from Jane Doe?” Vaughan asked.
“Yes, we were able to get an impression of the right index finger and roll a print. It’s with AFIS now, so we should know something within a few hours. And we also found a parking pass in the back pocket of her pants. Decomposition fluids made it tough to read, but one of my techs was able to confirm it was issued at the deck on the five hundred block of King Street.”
“King Street?” Vaughan asked.
“Near Old Town,” Baldwin said.
“And one block away from the gym where Hadley Foster worked.”
Spencer’s eyes darkened with interest. She dropped her gaze to her phone and pulled up the location on a map. “Was there a date on the pass?”
“We think the first week of August of this year, but the numbers are hard to read. Forensic is putting the paper under the microscope. Based on the insect activity found on the body and the body’s state of decay, which would have been accelerated in this heat wave, I’d say she’s been dead about seven to ten days.”
“That matches with the parking pass,” Spencer said.
“Yes,” replied Baldwin.
“Anything else?” Vaughan asked.
“We found nothing else in her pockets or on her body. Hard to say at this point if she’d been sexually active or assaulted. We did pull some black hair fibers from her body, and they have been sent to the lab.”
“Do you still have Galina Grant’s body?” Vaughan asked.
“Yes.” He carefully covered the body with a sheet and closed the drawer before moving to drawer 205. “We did locate Galina Grant’s mother. She lives in Kansas but can’t afford to travel here to claim the body, nor can she afford to bury her.” He opened the drawer and peeled back the sheet to reveal Galina Grant.
Vaughan studied the young girl’s still, drawn face, already blotchy with decomposition. Anger burned in him. No kid deserved to die like this.
“Jane Doe had good dental care, while Grant had a half dozen cavities,” Baldwin said. “Radiology also revealed she’d suffered several broken bones, including her nose. That injury appeared to be within the last couple of months.”
“There was a pizza box at the crime scene, and it contained only discarded onions and pepperoni.”
“There was a partial slice of pizza in her stomach.”
“Any pepperoni?” Vaughan asked.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
So the killer hated the topping. “What else do you have, Doc?”
“Vaginal bruising confirms she had rough sexual intercourse before she died, but her partner wore a condom and didn’t leave semen behind.”
Spencer knitted her fingers together as she stared at Galina Grant. “She’s so young.”
“She was nineteen,” Baldwin said.
“A little older than Skylar,” Spencer said.
“Even like Marsha Prince when she died,” Vaughan said. The evidence was creating a pattern that he feared painted the picture of a serial killer.
Vaughan’s phone rang. It was Hughes. Turning and walking away, he pressed the phone to his ear. “Tell me you have something.”
“I’ve matched Hadley Foster’s credit card transactions with video footage from several stores. You might want to have a look.”
“We’re on our way.”
They left the medical examiner’s office, and as he drove east, back toward Alexandria, he glanced toward Spencer, who was sitting quietly, scrolling through her phone. “What do you think?”
Her naturally skeptical eyes swung around to meet his. “You have a killer who has a type. And he’s been active for a long time.”
“His capacity for violence is high. That’s not easy to miss.”
“He moves between jurisdictions and hunts prostitutes like Galina Grant. How many girls like Galina just vanish, and no one ever notices?”
“Too many.” He tightened his grip on the wheel. “Marsha Prince, Hadley, and Skylar Foster aren’t the kind of women whose disappearances go undetected.”
“Marsha was murdered eighteen years ago. The world was not as connected, and forensic science was still developing. But I’d wager he learned from her that hunting in affluent neighborhoods would get him caught.”
“So he shifted gears.”
“For a time, yes.”
“And then Hadley Foster returns to Alexandria,” she said.
“She and Skylar were featured in the news in March when they won a fitness competition. Maybe seeing her stirred up memories.”
“She starts him on a new killing spree.”
“I would wager he has never stopped. In fact, I would wager seeing her agitated him and made him sloppy.”
“It’s all theories until we find Hadley and Skylar.”
“Exactly.” She slowly took in a breath, drawing his attention to the long lines of her neck. She had a grace and confidence that was hard to ignore. He liked the way she pinned her hair up.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving. But I don’t think we have time.”
“I was thinking pizza.”
She arched a brow. “Would this be a pizza place close to Galina Grant’s crime scene?”
“Maybe. Pepperoni and onions work for you?”
“Sure.”
“My kind of gal. Find the pizza place nearest the Bragg Street motel, and I’ll buy.”
She searched her phone. “There are three.”
“We’ll go with the closest.”
She called in the order, and twenty minutes later, he walked through the front door of the pizza shop, his gaze traveling to the piles of delivery boxes piled behind the counter.
“Pizza for Vaughan,” he said.
The slim Hispanic kid behind the counter rang up the order. Vaughan pulled up a picture of Galina. “Ever seen this girl?”
The kid frowned and looked from side to side, as if worried. “No.”
“I’m not here to make trouble.” He lifted the edge of his jacket, exposing his badge. “She was killed, and I’m trying to find her killer.”
“I don’t know her.”
Vaughan scrolled to the picture of the pizza box. “You ever use boxes like this one?”
“No. We always got our name on our pizza boxes.”
“Know anyone who uses this kind?” Vaughan asked.
“Maybe Gino’s. It’s three blocks from here.”
“Thanks.” He picked up the box, strode to his car, and set the pizza in the back seat.
The light from her phone sharpened the angles on her face as he slid behind the wheel. “Any luck?”
“Guy thinks maybe Gino’s.”