The third victim was discovered the next day in Rosedale near Lindy Creek, a shallow, but long body of water that stretched between homes in a newer, upscale part of the city. In the spring the creeks and streams rose to flood depths when the winter snow in the Sierra Nevada Mountains melted, but now, in the dead of winter, they were shallow enough for children to play on its banks.
Two fourth-grade boys on their way to Jefferson Elementary School found the body of a young female. The victim had been murdered in much the same way as Dickey Hinchey, the body bruised and battered, stabbed and beaten.
Slater called and gave Cruz a heads up on the location and agreed to meet him at the scene. “We’ll run into Detective Flood at the crime scene,” Slater murmured, “but two killings in the same town, with a possible third one nearby – that sounds like a pattern, don’t you think?”
Cruz thought a moment, a sharp jolt of terror cutting through him, muscle to bone. “Jesus, a serial killer? Two women, one man, different dumping grounds, only one a parolee. How do you figure?”
“He’s target specific, isn’t he? Going after homeless people?”
“Damn, Slater, that sounds crazy.” Cruz breathed deeply and exhaled slowly. “You’re saying that some crazy right-wing nut job has a hard-on for street people and is picking them off one by one?”
“Well,” Slater grumbled, “when you say it like that – ”
“Right, it’s insane.”
Cruz tapped his fingers restlessly on his desk. “Look, I majored in psychology in undergrad. Let me do some research on this and get back to you. Changing the victim’s sex, choosing a young, strong girl instead of an older, weak man – that deviates from the pathology of the killer.”
He shifted in his swivel chair. “And what’s the motive? There’s always a sexual component with a serial.”
“You sound like a damned shrink,” Slater grumbled, “but, yeah, looks like no one messed with their junk.”
“And the motive?”
“Oh, there’s one. We just don’t know it.” Slater returned. “Let me handle the crime scene by myself. That’ll make Flood less prickly. You check out the psych stuff. Aren’t you a little nuts anyway?”
Cruz smothered a guilty laugh. He was loco for sure – following a couple of murder cases when he had parolees to check up on, and only one of the deaths directly tied to him. “Nah, I’d like a look at the body. Maybe I’ll recognize her, and I don’t mind pissing Flood off.”
Patch Wilson had returned from vacation and was present at the crime scene at Lindy Creek. Unfortunately, as Slater had predicted, so was Detective Flood.
Cruz and Slater stood out of the way and listened as Flood pontificated about the dead body, trying to act like he knew something special. While it was true he led the investigation, the M.E.’s role was sacrosanct. No one touched the crime scene until the pathologist had the first look, and Patch was particularly territorial about his work.
Dr. Wilson gave Flood a discouraging frown. “Please step back, Detective Flood, until I finish my on-site examination.”
“Same as the other one, right?” Flood prompted. “Street people get into all kinds of altercations with each other. Chances are some bum had a grudge against this one. Just like with Dickey Hinchey.”
Cruz exchanged a glance with Slater and suppressed a grin, knowing Patch would be formulating a sharp reply.
“Well, now, Detective, we won’t know until we finish our examination, will we?” When Patch, the most clever medical examiner either man had ever known, went into his professorial mode, using the royal “we,” he was ready to lambast his target.
Get ready, Flood.
“Step back, now, please, and let me do my work.” Wilson paused. “Unless you have a medical degree?”
The statement had all the force of a presidential order. Flood stumbled several steps backward, regained his balance, and stuffed his fists into the pockets of his natty suit.
Dr. Wilson studied the corpse an abnormally long time. “Why’s he taking so long?” Cruz asked Slater.
“I don’t know. This is unusual even for Patch. Maybe something intriguing caught his attention.”
At length Wilson rose, snapped off his latex gloves, and announced to the small group of law enforcement people surrounding him. “Good, I was hoping for something complex to wrap my brain around. It appears I have it.”
He nodded Slater’s way. “I’ll begin the autopsy tomorrow morning.” He paused and stroked his smoothly-shaved jaw reflectively. “I’ll also want to re-autopsy our dead Mr. Hinchey. I’m finished now,” he added to the ambulance driver. “You can deliver the body to the hospital.”
He turned and walked away.