The pizza that Maclean had brought was delicious, and it occurred to Verraday that if the line of conversation hadn’t been so unpleasant, he would have very much enjoyed having her company here. And he would have liked for the two of them to share that bottle of Nero d’Avola.
Verraday looked more closely at the rap sheet. “He’s got a bunch of animal cruelty charges here. Three resulting in death. This concerns me more than the gang offenses. It’s classic serial killer escalation. Jeffrey Dahmer stuck a dog’s head on a stick and stripped animal carcasses before shifting his attention to boys. Edmund Kemper chopped the heads off cats before graduating to killing his mother and seven other women, and the Boston Strangler did his apprenticeship firing arrows at cats and dogs that he’d trapped in boxes.”
“I’m glad now that we didn’t opt for the Italian sausage,” said Maclean.
“You don’t know the half of it,” replied Verraday. “Now, these alleged sexual assaults on girls who were unlucky enough to be partying with Cody and his pals are also concerning.”
“He would have been convicted each of those times,” said Maclean, “except that the girls were high when it happened. He had his friends with him, who testified that it was just a house party gone wild. Plus he always wore a condom, so he never left any evidence behind. Their word against his.”
“There’s another killing here.”
“Yes. A prostitute. They were engaged in hypoxyphilia. She died while he was choking her.”
“How the hell did he beat that one?”
“The coroner ruled it was a heart attack brought about by cardiovascular disease that just happened to be triggered by the strangulation. The prostitute was a heavy cocaine user and had a weakened heart. Cody claimed it was just sex play. The defense looked into her background and found out that hypoxyphilia was one of her specialties. She charged a premium for catering to clients who had fantasies around strangling women.”
“And then he landed in San Quentin.”
“Killed another prostitute. He claimed that she stabbed him and robbed him and that it was self-defense. Said he hadn’t meant to kill her, just protect himself. He got a manslaughter conviction.”
“Well, it might not be a smoking gun, but it’s damned close,” said Verraday. “Psychologically speaking, I’d say Cody North is capable of making the leap to the level of violence that we saw in the Carmichael, Friesen, and Dale cases.”
“I’m going to bring him in for questioning,” said Maclean. “Now, before I go, you were going to tell me something about why you didn’t want meat on your pizza tonight.”
“You all finished? Sure you don’t want anything else?”
“I’m good, thanks,” Maclean replied.
“Then come on into the kitchen.”
*
Maclean stood by Verraday’s kitchen counter, examining the corpse of the rat, which he had laid on top of some plastic wrap. In the light, and with Maclean standing by, the rat seemed smaller and less ominous than when he had discovered it earlier that evening.
“So it was just lying on your front steps when you came home?” asked Maclean.
“Yes. I went to the gym and got something to eat, and when I got back, it was here.”
“And rigor mortis had already set in?”
“It was stiff as a brick.”
“That means it was killed earlier and dumped here. Did you find any blood anywhere on the steps or on the path?”
“No, I checked everywhere.”
Maclean took a package of tongue depressors from her shoulder bag and pulled one out. With the depressor, she flipped the rat over on its back and pushed the fur away from the wound.
“That wound wasn’t caused by another animal. That’s man-made. I used to help my dad dress the geese and deer he had shot. I’d say this cut was made by a hunting knife.”
“I’ve worked with plenty of rats in labs,” said Verraday. “If this thing is anywhere near as bright as its cousins, there’s nothing in the world that could get it to hold still while someone slit its throat.”
“It was already dead when this cut was made. Poisoned,” said Maclean. “See how there’s blood around its nose? That’s from an anticoagulant. Somebody poisoned this rat and slit its throat after it died.”
Verraday sucked in a breath. “Nice.”
“You ever had anything like this happen before? Any harassment in the past?”
“No, never. But there are definitely people who have an axe to grind with me. Top of the list is Bosko. He’d be able to figure out where I live. Can you send the rat to a lab for analysis? Maybe whoever did this was careless enough to leave some clues.”
Maclean looked at him sympathetically, but with finality. “Theoretically the lab could look for human DNA or threads from clothing or carpet. But this is basically a nuisance case. It’s pretty minor even as vandalism goes. Wild rats aren’t protected under the Animal Welfare Act, so there’s no law being broken on that side. As creepy as this is, the city would view it as less serious and destructive than tagging. On top of that, you haven’t received any verbal or written threat.”
“So the answer is no?”
“Sorry.”
“But somebody’s been leaving my gate open. Seems like an odd coincidence.”
Maclean gazed at the rat again, then turned to Verraday. “You ever own a cat?”