Tall. Slim. Distinguished. Dressed in a conservative dun-colored suit, he carried a tan London Fog trench coat draped over one arm and greeted me with a genteel smile and an outstretched hand. “Calvin Werjonic. And you must be Detective Bowers.” His English accent was rich and sonorous. His eyes, studious and precise, taking everything in.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
After a firm handshake, he gestured toward the papers on my desk. “I admit my handwriting isn’t…well, I’d say what it used to be, but it’s always been rather…tried.” He pulled out an actual, real-life pocket watch and checked the time. “Well, shall we chat here, or is there a better place to discuss your case?”
“Um, honestly, I’m thrilled you would offer to help, but-”
He flagged a finger in the air to stop me. “Most assuredly, I don’t expect you to tell me anything about the case that’s not already public knowledge. Taking that into account, I’ll offer what help I can. And you have no obligation to accept any of my observations or implement anything I might suggest. So, then, here? Or is there another, more suitable place?”
“Let’s step into the conference room.”
His eyes were on the maps on which I’d stuck the thumbtacks for the scenes of the crimes. “Interesting…” he mumbled. “And can we take this with us?”
“Sure.”
I wheeled the board with the maps as I led Dr. Werjonic to the room with the empty Daily Donuts box on the table. “Doughnuts,” he mused when we arrived. “Isn’t that a bit of a cliche? Here in America?”
“Actually,” I said, defending my country, albeit lamely, “they were cherry turnovers.”
“I see.”
“Officer Thompson’s favorite.”
“Of course.”
Not really sure if that helped.
He took a seat. “Well then, let’s get started.”
“Just so we’re clear, you’re offering to help me with the case I’m currently working on, and-”
“To be sure: the one involving the mutilation of Colleen Hayes, the abduction of Adele Westin, and the murder of Bruce Hendrich. And possibly the connection to two homicides in two other states.”
I blinked. “How did you…?”
“Come, come. The soil samples from the murder in Champaign that matched only two counties of southeast Wisconsin-there was a report on the news. That, and the anthropophagic behavior.”
“That wasn’t made public.”
“True.” He smiled. “But thank you for confirming it.”
Okay, now that was just plain sneaky. “But how did you know last night that I was the one on this case anyway? That information wasn’t released until the newspapers came out this morning.”
“Based on your grades and your request for the photocopied notes-which, I must say, is quite admirable-I can tell this program is a priority for you. The graduate assistant who requested I leave the notes for you mentioned the request came via a dispatcher, so I realized you were calling it in from the field. After a quick review of your attendance records, I noted that there has been a high correlation between your absences and high-profile homicide investigations in the city over the last six months.”
“You teach in Vancouver. How do you possibly know about our homicide investigations here in Milwaukee?”
“I stay current.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. “So”-I tracked with his train of thought-“from there it was simple enough to infer my involvement in this current case, the most high-profile one in months.”
He smiled. “Timing and location, Detective. It always cracks down to timing and location.”
“Alright, so just to reiterate: I can’t divulge anything confidential about the case. It’s an ongoing investigation.”
“How about if I just tell you what I can, based on what I already know. From television, the newspapers, that sort of thing. Start there. See if that helps at all.”
“Fair enough.”
He steepled his fingers. “The Dahmer and Gein locations relate to the story he’s telling more than to the travel routes he’s taking. For instance, we don’t know that he himself has ever visited the New Territories Bar or the alley in Milwaukee, or the graveyard or the hardware store in Plainfield for that matter. Remember, he sent other people to those sites.”
“True. Good point.”
He gestured toward the map. “Which does not help us in our efforts to use geographic profiling to discern the most likely location of the kidnapper’s anchor point, but that’s not really the issue anymore, is it? Since we already know where it is.”
“We do?”
“The boxcar.” He stood and, with his finger, he traced, on the map, one after the other, the roads that branched out from the train yard’s parking lot. “The location of the train yards determined his travel routes more than his home address did, which will not help us in finding his home. He knows these neighborhoods. He was familiar enough with the woods to flee through them in nearly dark conditions, and then to make it through the neighborhood-yet being a Caucasian, he would likely be highly noticeable to the people living along those streets.”
“We were thinking the same thing.”
“Yes. The news accounts last night implied as much. Which reminds me, you’ve forgotten one key location.”
“Which one is that?”
“The parking lot in Pewaukee from which the Ford Taurus was stolen.”
I was embarrassed I’d missed that. “I’ll add it.”
“So, knowing the anchor point-the boxcar-I would suggest you begin to analyze the possible travel routes to and from the train yard to the other sites you’ve already noted.”
At least that thought had already crossed my mind. “The algorithms in your notes.”
“The last three pages, yes. And you’ll want to closely examine the victimology here. Find out how the two couples targeted in these crimes are connected to each other.”
“We’re working on it.”
“Of course.”
Time to pick his brain. “I’ve been thinking, Dr. Werjonic-”
“Calvin, please.”
“Calvin-I’ve been thinking…The guy who killed the women in Ohio and Illinois passed by Indiana.” I shared one little piece of information that wasn’t exactly public knowledge yet, but I kept it vague enough to feel comfortable telling him. “Of the other missing persons cases in Wisconsin, Ohio, Illinois, and Indiana we’re looking at-”
“Let me guess-you don’t have any in Indiana that fit the MO or victim demographic from those cases or the two out-of-state victims.”
“Correct. I’m wondering why he would skip that geographic region.”
“That, my boy, is a very good question.” He stared into space for a moment, then consulted his pocket watch again. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m afraid I must be going. I have a lunch appointment and a short drive ahead of me. It seems a writer is working on a book and wanted to interview me while I was in town. Investigating some cold cases, as it were.”
I thought back to my conversation with Thorne yesterday afternoon when he mentioned that a true crime writer used Griffin as one of her sources. He’d brought her up again at our briefing a few minutes ago. “It’s not a true crime book, is it?”
“It is.”
“The writer’s name wouldn’t, by any chance, be Heather Isle?”
“No, a gent named Slate Seagirt…” Calvin nodded, then smiled faintly. “Ah. Clever. A nom de plume.”
A pseudonym…?
I processed that aloud: “Both ‘heather’ and ‘slate’ can mean gray…An ‘isle’ is an island…” I hadn’t heard the word “seagirt” before, but its meaning was easy enough to decipher: “Seagirt-girted by the sea.”
“Yes.” Calvin looked pleased that I’d ventured a cursory guess at the word’s etymology. “Surrounded by water.”
“What’s the cold case about?”
“Something concerning the tragic unsolved murder of a young girl whose body was found in a tree house.”