“How could you tell?”
“The photographs taken at the site of disposal show surface ice crystals and condensation on the skin. By the time the bodies got to me, the bodies had thawed, but some of the organs were still hard. The freezing didn’t hide the mutilation or torture, but it does make it more difficult to calculate time of death.” She gestured toward pictures clipped to a corkboard. “I was using pictures to see if I could make comparisons between the twins and Garrett Ramsey. You can see that the girls’ skin, after thawing, is red, fading to a leathery brown instead of yellow. Nose, ears, and tips of fingers on both girls are blackened.”
He walked that way to examine the pictures. Sure enough, the areas mentioned looked like freezer burn. Feeling nauseated, he went back to his place on the other side of the dead man and decided not to absorb the information until later. To think about what those girls had been put through would not help him move forward. “What about sexual abuse?”
She shook her head. “Hymens are intact—both girls. No signs of sexual abuse on any of the three victims.”
That information was consistent with the Heartless Killer’s MO. He wasn’t a sexual predator. This was about control. He tortured and killed because it made him feel powerful. Some might argue he was simply a psycho who gained pleasure from the acts he committed.
“After CT scans were completed and blood was drawn,” Evelyn said, “my preliminary examination revealed something I knew you would want to see.”
He followed her to the counter that ran along the back wall by the sink. She removed a green surgical towel from atop a metal tray. Underneath was what looked like a small, bloodied organ about the size of his thumb. “What is it?”
“The heart of a chicken,” Evelyn said. “It was found lodged in Garrett Ramsey’s throat.”
Before he could ask, she added, “Same with the girls.” Evelyn then reached for a lone glass slide, the kind you would put under a microscope, and held it up for him to see.
“It looks like a hair.”
She nodded. “Identical hairs were found on both girls.”
“Human or animal?”
“The lab is still processing, but I think you should know I grew up on a horse farm. The hairs found are coarse and have a mosaic pattern, which are consistent with horsehairs. I should note, however, that animal hairs, as a rule, do not possess enough individual microscopic characteristics to be associated with a particular animal to the exclusion of other similar animals.”
He felt lightness in his chest. “So, there’s a good chance the killer could be living on a farm?”
She shrugged. “Could be a ranch, a farm, someone who owns or works with horses. But you didn’t hear that from me,” she said. “It would be wrong of me to suggest one thing or another before the final analysis and diagnosis has been reached.”
“Got it.” Although it was too early to jump to any conclusion—especially one that could easily lead him and his team down the wrong path—he was hopeful. If the final analysis proved that the hairs could be identified as horsehair, it was more than they had at the moment. And it was the first time a hair from a victim of the Heartless Killer had been identified as not belonging to the victim. There were few, if any, cases he could think of where the case was solved as a result of animal-hair findings. But this was different from finding a cat or dog hair. “Anything else I should know?” he asked Evelyn.
“No. I’ll call you if anything else comes up.”
“Thanks.” Colin peeled off his gloves and tossed them in the garbage.
When he got to the door, she said, “Catch that guy, would you? I need to get some sleep.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Jessie parked in front of Arlo’s house, but before she or Olivia could climb out of the car, she saw the front door open.
“Stay here,” she told Olivia as she reached for the picture, “while I talk to Zee’s dad.”
Arlo stepped out of the house and shut the door behind him. “What are you doing here?” he asked, seemingly put out by her visit.
Ignoring his bluster, she handed him the eight-by-ten photo she’d had blown up and pointed at the man in the reflection of Zee’s sunglasses. “Look at that man,” she said. “He’s holding a Polaroid camera and taking Zee’s picture. Have you ever seen him before?”
He looked at it for a long while, his trembling hands causing the photo to shake. A light sheen of sweat covered his forehead, and for the life of her, she had no idea what was going through his mind. Afraid to ask him if he was okay, since that hadn’t gone well the first time she’d met him, she simply waited for him to talk.
A solid two minutes passed before he looked back at Jessie. His eyes appeared glossy. Was he going to cry? “What is it?” she asked.
He handed her the picture, pushing it into her hands as if he wanted nothing more to do with it. “I’ve never seen him before.”
The shocker was when he turned away and headed back for the front door.
“Arlo,” she said, stopping him in his tracks, “this is our best clue so far. If you want me to find Zee, then you’re going to need to help me.”
He turned to her and said, “What do you want me to do? I’m paying you to do your job, so do it.”
She held her ground. “There has to be someone who might be able to tell me who this man is. You and Zee must have friends or family or someone—anyone at all—who might know who this man is.”
“I filled out your paperwork.”
“And I read every word,” she said.
“Then you know there’s nobody for you to talk to.”
“You don’t have a brother, sister, or parents?”
“I have a brother in Minnesota who I haven’t seen or talked to in twenty years. That’s it.”
“Can you tell me his name?”
He sighed. “Zee has never met him, and I’ve never spoken to her of my brother, but his name is Waylon. There. I hope that helps. I’ve got to go.”
With that said, Arlo walked back into his house and shut the door behind him, leaving Jessie to wonder if all his neighbors were right about the man. And then she thought of Zee and headed back to the car. “Come on,” she said to Olivia when she climbed out. “We’ll leave the car parked here while we go door-to-door.”
“He looked angry. Was he mad at you?”
Jessie lifted her arms in frustration. “I have no idea. But I’ve made the decision not to give up on Zee.”
“Yeah,” Olivia said. “I agree. I just hope she’s okay.”
“Me, too.”
Jessie was worn-out by the time she knocked on the front door of a one-story yellow house with a green roof and white shutters. Directly across the street, she saw Olivia talking to a woman with small kids clinging to her legs. They had been at it for two hours, showing the blown-up blurry image of a man’s reflection to anyone who would take a look. No luck so far, which was understandable, considering the picture they had to work with.
Like the last time she’d been in the neighborhood, many of Arlo’s neighbors were reluctant to talk, especially after they realized she was working for Arlo Gatley. His neighbors were wary of him. Arlo was odd, they would say. He drove too fast. He never waved hello as they drove by, and he was quick to call city officials to complain if they didn’t cut their lawns, and so on, and so on.
Most of the people she’d talked to so far knew Arlo and his daughter. They also knew Zee was missing but were convinced she’d simply run away. Although a few of the neighbors had made a halfhearted attempt to assure Jessie she would show up sooner rather than later, it was obvious by their tone of voice and mannerisms that they didn’t care one way or another.
When no one answered the door, Jessie turned to leave. Before she took more than two steps, she heard a quiet voice. It took her a second to realize someone was talking to her through a partially opened window.