Detective Feller walked the room, which had not been disturbed, except for the
upset bed and bedding. “If he was done here, there’s no sign of struggle.”
Dr. Parry, waiting out the body temp reading, said, “I picked up chloroform traces
here on the front of his coveralls. Forensics roped off some scrape-and-drag
depressions in the living room rug. They’re testing the fibers for chloroform
spills.”
Heat turned to the responding officer. “Who found him?”
“Housekeeping. Manager says there’s a supermodel coming in to do a calendar shoot,
and the maid was checking to make sure the apartment was ready for her.”
“So this isn’t the victim’s room?” asked Heat.
“No, but he does have a bedbug contract with the building.”
“So why was he here? Did they call him in to check out the room?”
“Manager says no. He didn’t even know the guy was up here.”
Nikki sent Feller off to interview the manager more fully, and sent the pair of unis
in the hall to knock on some doors to ask if anyone heard or saw anything. Lauren
completed her field testing and ballparked the time of death window between midnight
and 2 A.M. “Which means,” said Rook, “that your serial killer had already
murdered him when he called you this morning.”
“If this is his work,” said Nikki. “We don’t know that yet.” She crouched down
and lifted the dust ruffle with her gloved hand to look under the bed.
Rook scanned the dresser and stuck his head inside the armoire housing the TV. He
lifted up the Bible inside the nightstand and said, “Death, where is thy string?”
“Got it,” said Lauren Parry. They came to her side, and she indicated about an
eighth of an inch of red string, barely noticeable because it was wedged between the
victim’s shoulder and the box spring.
“OK to move him?” asked Nikki.
The ME said to hang on, called in the crime scene unit photographer to document the
string and its position, then gave Heat a nod. She and Rook stood back while Parry
and her technician rolled the body on its side. The CSU shooter positioned himself
and clicked; his flash strobed at what they found underneath: a length of red string
tied to a length of yellow string, tied to a length of purple string. The end of the
purple string was knotted through the hole in the head of a futuristic-looking door
key.
“I need you, and pronto, Heat,” called Captain Irons as she double-timed past his
office door toward the squad room. In spite of her low opinion of him, as the
skipper, Wally deserved a briefing. So she reversed field and caught him up on the
murder of Bedbug Doug. When she’d finished and turned to go, he said, “Not done
yet, Detective.” Nikki stopped, not having a second to waste, hoping he could make
it quick. “Do you know the pressure I’m under? Do you know how many times I get
called about bringing this to a resolution?”
“Yes, sir, I can only imagine they’re all over you at One PP.”
He made a face and shrugged. “No, actually, the commissioner knows we’re busting
our humps. I’m talking about the media.”
“Seriously? This is about media pressure?”
“Listen, Heat, this has been on my mind, so I might as well get it out.” He
gestured to a chair and they sat. “I know you’re spending your time on your other
… more personal case. But now that we have a serial killer and people are paying
attention in the press, you have to stop chasing that dog and put your focus where I
need it.”