“Susie told her so. All the information we’ve got here—her address, the philandering husband and the four children—comes from Susie herself via Mrs. Glass. Mrs. Glass was really concerned.”
“Also she can’t find someone else to clean.” Kateri waved that away. “Sorry, not the point.”
“The body is dressed like a cleaning woman,” Officer Knowles said.
“She didn’t have the hands for it,” Mike Sun said.
“How do you know? She didn’t have fingertips!” Knowles said.
Mike Sun didn’t like Knowles lipping off to him, so he unzipped the bag from the bottom and brought out one of the mutilated hands.
Norm Knowles turned his back.
Mike said, “I recognize these calluses. These weren’t caused by cleaning. She’s practiced self-defense for a long time. Karate at the least.”
“That’s interesting.” Kateri contemplated the news. “So we have a corpse with no ID and no fingerprints who has apparently been lying to her employer about just about everything. She ran into our slasher. He shot her and used her to experiment on, and if his goal was to remove his victims’ faces intact, he apparently managed it this time.”
Mike Sun said, “You’ve got one thing backward. He took her face first. Then he shot her.”
That did it for Bill Chippen. He headed for the bushes and they heard him throwing up.
Kateri rubbed the side of her head. “This is one sick bastard.”
“We can officially label this ‘escalating violence,’” Bergen said. “Although it almost seems as if he shot her to put her out of her misery.”
“Suspects?” Kateri had one, but she wanted to hear everyone else’s thoughts.
“John Terrance,” Knowles said instantly.
“Maybe.” Kateri believed it less and less. “But according to Bertha, she filled him full of buckshot, and according to Mrs. Blethyn, he was hurting pretty badly when she removed it. She was worried about him, thought he needed antibiotics and he wouldn’t be able to get them.”
“Poor guy!” Knowles said sarcastically.
No use popping back at him. Knowles was a good officer and right now she needed every one she had. “I’m saying if this woman knew karate and was capable of defending herself, John Terrance might not be able to handle it.”
Chippen came back out of the bushes, his complexion tinged with green. “Maybe Terrance has picked up a partner.”
“I think whoever is doing this has got to be an out-of-towner,” Knowles said. “It doesn’t seem as if someone local could have hidden this perversion for long.”
“It’s summer, and as Councilman Venegra has kindly pointed out, we’re coming into our busiest tourist time of the year.” Kateri sighed. “So that doesn’t eliminate very many people.”
“If it’s a tourist, it has to be someone who summers over.” Mike consulted his files. “The first slashing was a week ago.”
“The first slashing that we know of,” Bergen said. “If Mrs. Glass hadn’t called this in and Weston hadn’t wanted to come out and if we hadn’t seen the buzzards…”
“Right.” Kateri didn’t even want to consider that. “Listen to this. Which probably means nothing. But tonight at quilting, I was watching this woman—tourist, older, Elsa Cipre—use a rotary cutter. She was whipping that thing along a straight edge, cutting material. I was looking at her in a new way. Then her husband showed up. He grabbed her and dragged her out of there. She was afraid of him, and I was thinking—”
“A rotary cutter?” Mike Sun made a note, then looked delighted when Kateri pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him.
“Be careful.” She showed him her bandaged finger. “It really is sharp.”
He twirled it. “Promising…”
“Know anything about this Cipre guy?” Bergen asked.
“He’s a college professor,” Kateri said. “So’s she, or was. She doesn’t teach anymore.”
“I know, I know, all abusive husbands are scum, blah, blah,” Chippen said, “but that doesn’t mean Cipre is the killer. Not any more than the next guy.”
Kateri viewed Chippen in a new light. “No. But he’s a big guy, strong if the way he hauled her out is any indication, and his wife could have taught him everything she knows about … cutters.”
The guys were unconvinced.
Officer Ed Legbrandt came puffing up the hill, followed by Ernie Fitzwater.
“At least let’s keep an eye on the Good Knight Manor Bed and Breakfast,” Kateri said.
“What are you thinking?” Bergen asked.
“I’m thinking my friend Merida Falcon is staying there and got a threatening phone call. Susie worked there and she’s dead. Phoebe Glass, the proprietress, is new to Virtue Falls. Dawkins Cipre and his wife are staying there.” It sounded worse when Kateri said it out loud.
Sean Weston stood up. “It is sort of the center of the vortex.”
“Don’t forget your sister’s there,” Moen said.
Kateri sighed. “I only wish I could.”
General, subdued laughter across the site.
Moen bent down and picked something up and examined it.
Kateri prepared to make the hike down the hill. “Pardon me, gentlemen, I’m going to call Garik and fill him in on this one, then we’re going to hold a press conference if anybody would like to stand behind me for support.”
General head shaking.
“Bergen, you stand behind me on the right. Moen, you stand behind me on the left.”
“No, Sheriff Kwinault.”
Kateri turned to Moen. “What?”
Moen advanced toward Mike Sun and offered him something from the palm of his hand.
Sun let out a huff of air, dug in his bag, pulled out a pair of tweezers and lifted the little black piece of—“It’s a piece of skin. It’s a fingertip. I think we can pull a print off this. Sonofabitch, Moen, you just saved the case!”
“Good for me.” Moen wiped his hand on his trousers. “I’m done with law enforcement. I thought I could do it. And I can. I can drive and fill out reports and arrest citizens for drunk driving. I can handle accidental shootings and bar fights and traffic deaths. But I can’t do”—he gestured at the body bag—“this.”
The officers got quiet. They understood the difference, nobody better.
Kateri asked, “What are you going to do, Moen?”
“I’m going to school, get better at graphics, get some kind of job in the field. Maybe go to Japan. I’ve been studying the language. I want to get my graphic novels published.” Moen looked at his palm and wiped his hand again. “No matter what, I’m done with police work.”
Bergen handed him a wet-wipe pack. “What about your father?”
“He’ll have to be disappointed in me.” Moen cleaned his hand, and cleaned, and cleaned. “I’m done. Sheriff, can I leave or do you want me to work my two weeks’ notice?”
Kateri almost gave him a pass and said he could go. Then she remembered—slashings, John Terrance, the Fourth of July … “Moen. If you would stay for the two weeks. We’ll make sure you stick with traffic violations and intoxication and littering. I’ll get someone else to stand behind me at the press conference.”
“Thank you, Sheriff.” Moen took off his hat and held it, and looked at Kateri. “It’s been a privilege to work with you, ma’am, and I was wrong when I said you were too old to be interested in sex.” He put on his hat and started down the hill.