“Did she date?”
“A bit. She went through a big breakup two years before she . . . died. Never got over him, really.”
“Did she date anyone just before she died?”
“No. I don’t think she had any dates in the six months before she died. At least, nothing she talked about.”
“Did she seem worried about anything or anyone? Can you think of any man who knew her and might have . . . bothered her?”
“No. I don’t think she even had any male friends.”
“Any male relatives? A cousin? A brother?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.”
“Didn’t she have an uncle living nearby?” Ryan said. “I’m pretty sure she mentioned him once or twice.”
“Oh, yeah.”
Zoe nodded. Susan did have an uncle in Chicago. He was seventy and in a wheelchair. But he was on the list, and someone was bound to talk to him soon.
“Did she mention any of her neighbors?” Tatum continued.
“No.”
A plethora of negatives. Zoe sighed and intervened. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Uh, a week before . . . before she disappeared. I went over to visit her.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Just the usual. Studies. Art. Guys. She said she wanted to move out.”
“Did she say why?”
“Oh, yeah. Tons of reasons. The apartment was crap. The insulation was terrible; the place was freezing cold in the winter. I remember she mentioned that. What else?”
“There was a real problem with moisture and mold on the walls,” Ryan said. “It was really serious.”
Daniella nodded. “Right. It even ruined some of her paintings once. Oh, and the sewage kept backing up. One time it actually flooded the apartment. We had to go there with Ryan’s van and get her furniture to a storage facility until the place dried up.”
“Yeah. We just threw away the carpet,” Ryan added. “Also, the landlord was an asshole—”
“An asshole how?” Tatum asked.
“He kept dodging her when she needed stuff,” Daniella said. “She had to pay for the sewage thing herself once. And a real bastard when he needed the rent. Kept threatening to raise it too.”
“Do you know his name?”
“No.”
Zoe and Tatum exchanged looks. It was likely that the detectives had already checked the landlord, but Zoe made a mental note to make sure.
“Anything else you can think of?” Tatum asked.
Daniella shook her head. “I wish I could help more,” she said. A tear materialized in her eye. “I really miss her.”
CHAPTER 29
By the time Zoe and Tatum returned to the police station, a steady rain was pattering on the car. Zoe stared at a drop trickling down the windowpane as it merged with another drop, accelerating. Her eyes followed the trickle until it reached the bottom of the glass. She thought of Daniella’s description of Susan, trying to create a profile for the victim. A young art student, living alone, spending most of her time by herself in her apartment.
The perfect victim. The killer had chosen well. He had been careful.
But now his caution was slowly slipping. He preyed on random prostitutes. Though he probably had certain criteria, he no longer targeted lone women. Krista had lived with a friend and had been described as someone who got along with everyone. She had had a pimp.
Was the killer getting cocky, or was the urge to kill increasing, making him careless? Either way, he was moving faster. He would make more mistakes, which meant they had a better chance of catching him . . . but the price would be high.
She was frustrated by her inability to give Martinez a stronger profile. Specifically, it irked her that the killer was careful enough to strike all over the city, obviously driving for hours just to get far enough from his home. Geographic profiling was a great way of narrowing the group of suspects, and her inability to use it was crippling.
Tatum killed the engine, and Zoe was startled out of her thoughts. They were back at the station.
Neither of them had an umbrella, and Zoe ran half-crouched to the entrance of the department. Once under the cover of the lobby’s ceiling, she turned around, her hand brushing her hair, and watched Tatum as he walked casually in the rain as if it didn’t bother him. His mouth was quirked in a slight smile as if her hunchbacked trot had amused him. She was satisfied to see that by the time he got to her, his hair was dripping wet, and his shirt was visibly soggy. Who was laughing now?
Zoe, that’s who.
They went up to the task force room, which was mostly empty. Martinez sat hunched above some papers on his desk, his hand on his forehead. He looked exhausted. Across from him, Mel was talking on her phone, cradling it between her cheek and her shoulder as she typed on her keyboard.
Martinez glanced at them. “Anything interesting from the art student?”
Zoe shrugged. “A general description of the victim’s habits. Nothing more.”
“Okay. Which of you types up the report?”
“What report?” Tatum asked weakly.
“You talked to a witness, right? Here in the police we have something we call a ‘case file.’ Witness accounts go inside it. In a report.”
“Right.” Tatum cleared his throat. “I think that Zoe—”
“It was your idea to help out,” Zoe said sweetly. “Don’t you want to help out anymore?”
“I’ll send you the template for the report,” Martinez grunted, turning to his computer.
Mel slammed her phone in its cradle and cursed loudly. She then clearly realized that the agents and the lieutenant were staring at her.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “It’s been a long day, and this list is endless.”
“List?” Zoe asked.
“I sat down with the lieutenant from vice today,” Mel said. “We called all the districts and composed a list of all the reports of missing women from the last seventy-two hours. I’m now trying to follow up on them. But it’s taking ages.”
Zoe walked over and asked to see the list. She leafed through the stapled pages. There were four pages, each containing a short list. Altogether there were twenty-nine names. Each name came with a list of phone numbers and addresses, both of the missing woman and her acquaintances. There was also a description of the missing woman and a short line detailing the circumstances of the disappearance. Seven of the names were crossed out, and one was circled.
“What’s the one you circled?” Zoe asked.
“It was the only one I followed up on who’s still missing. The ones I crossed out have been located. Well, actually, five of them just returned home.”
Zoe flipped through the pages again and frowned. “Did you order those according to the date?”
“Yeah. I thought I’d start with the ones that have been missing the longest, since they are most likely to have returned. And if they didn’t, it’s more—”
“That’s a bad way to prioritize.”
Mel stared at Zoe, gritting her teeth.
“You should focus on the past thirty-six hours, at least a day after we found the body of Krista Barker. Call the women aged nineteen to twenty-five first. There are five names here that mention recent bruising on the face or arms. You can leave them for last. Bruises don’t heal after death, and our killer likes his corpses in good condition—”
“These women are adept at hiding their bruises with makeup,” Mel said.
“He would be very alert to that. This man is careful. My guess is that he avoids prostitutes with heavy makeup precisely because of that reason. Probably tattoos and piercing as well. We’ll push down any of the women that have a visible tattoo or piercing. Also, we should start with women gone missing in the evening and night.” Zoe grabbed a pen from Mel’s desk and began marking names. “This one. And this. And this one here.”
She marked four more. Then, scanning the names she marked, she numbered them, one to seven. “Start with those, in this order. And meanwhile, I’ll prioritize the rest.”
Mel stared at her for a long moment and then grabbed the phone and began punching the numbers in fast, furious movements.
Satisfied, Zoe turned back to the list.