Rooney clicked and crime scene photos appeared on the screen. “Can you see these okay?”
“Affirmative,” Hurdle said almost absentmindedly as he studied the image.
Successive pictures showed a flame-scorched Sterno can, remnants of a match, a candle.
“So this fire was not successful,” Ramos said.
“Right.” Rooney’s voice was off-screen, the crime scene photos still visible. “Which is the beauty of linkage. We now know that this earlier crime scene may in fact be the UNSUB’s first attempt. And he screwed it up. The fire didn’t really take off. We found a partially burned body, too.”
“Very elaborate setup,” Curtis said. “What’s the point? Is this just something he enjoys?” He turned to Vail. “What do you call it, ritual?”
Rooney answered. “No, this is part of his MO. At first glance, it sounds like this guy’s a nutcase. Why such a far-fetched contraption? It’s a simple explanation, really.”
“A delay mechanism,” Curtis said. “To allow him to leave and get away. Once he lights the candle, he leaves. It gives him plenty of time to get a fair distance from the home before it goes up in flames.”
Rooney clicked away from the photos and back to his face. “Exactly, detective. We thought he chose houses in the boonies because they’re served by volunteer fire departments, which have longer response times. But there’s another reason.”
“He takes a long time at the scene setting up this elaborate candle and wood match contraption. If he’s in the middle of nowhere, there’s a greater chance he’s left alone. Fewer visitors, less chance some neighbor or friend is going to drop by or walk in on him. Theoretically.”
“Right again. This delay mechanism is another purposeful, well-thought-out scheme.”
“Smart offender,” Vail said. Just like Marcks. And then something Rooney said hit her. “They found a body at that crime scene?”
“That’s what I was told. I just got this information from the investigator and I called you first. I’ll have to get more details on that early case.”
“I’d be very interested in seeing if that body had parallel lines carved into the abdomen. And excised genitalia.”
“I don’t think there was that much left intact. But you’re still thinking these arsons are related to your case?”
“That brings me to what I’ve got for you.” Vail explained how she had discussed the case with DEA agent Richard Prati and his background as a chemical engineer. “And the diethyl ether you found at your recent crime scene. We found it at Marcks’s buddy’s house, along with Sterno cans.”
“I need the forensics report on that, see if those cans match mine.”
“I’ll make sure you get a copy,” Curtis said.
She mentioned the homosexual use of the chemical and reminded him that Marcks had used it to temporarily disable his victims.
Rooney leaned back away from the camera. He rocked in his chair a few seconds, then said, “Okay. You’ve convinced me. I think you’re on to something. We should compare files, share info. Have you discussed this with Tom? It was his case way back when. He may have some insight, given time and distance. We all mull our cases, let them percolate over time, right?”
“He’s in Hawaii shooting his new series.”
Rooney chuckled. “That guy. Books, TV shows. Retirement’s been good to him.”
“I’m going to sit down with him when he gets back. But I’ll try him again, see if I can pull him away from the cameras for a few minutes.” She thanked Rooney and signed off. “I’m gonna call Stuart Sheridan and cross my t’s, make sure that stuff isn’t his.”
She pulled out her phone and dialed, identified herself, and reminded him who she was. As if he would forget.
“Mr. Sheridan, we found a few other items at your place that I just want to make sure aren’t yours. They’re not illegal, but it has great importance to our case.”
“When can I get into my home?”
“We’re almost done with our investigation. I can ask someone to call you with a better answer. But did you or your wife have a bottle of ether in your laundry room? It’s also known as diethyl ether.”
“What the hell is that?”
Guess that’s my answer.
“A chemical.”
“Not ours.”
“You want to check with your wife?”
“Hang on,” he said with the enthusiasm of a turtle. He muted the phone with a hand and called to Nancy, asked her something, then returned to the call. “No. She has no idea what I’m talking about. And of course now she wants to know why I’m asking.”
Oops. Guess he didn’t tell her about the squatter. “Sorry about that. What about Sterno cans?”
“You mean the fuel they use for catering? Chafing dishes? No, we haven’t had any events or major dinners at the house in years. Certainly nothing that we’d hire caterers for. And I’d never store chemicals or flammable fuel in my basement. Asking for trouble.”
You have no idea.
“That’s what I thought. Sorry to bother you with—”