"Okay," Butts said, slapping a bag of doughnuts onto Chuck's desk. "Here's what I found out. Vic Number One liked to get all lacy and decked out as a girl-pretty in pink. Wigs, makeup, heels-the whole nine yards."
It was just after nine o'clock Monday morning, and they were all there-Butts, Lee, Chuck, and Krieger. She was looking more sulky and sultry than usual, in a gray silk blouse and tight black skirt.
Butts flipped open the lid of his coffee cup and slurped loudly. "So assumin' this is the same perp, sounds like you were right on target, Doc," he told Lee.
"Good work," said Chuck. "That may shed some light on the victim profile."
"It took some digging," Butts said, gulping down more coffee.
Krieger frowned. "Why didn't a search of his apartment turn up the women's clothing?"
"Because he didn't keep them in his apartment," Butts announced triumphantly. "Apparently he was worried his wife would find out, so he had a little storage unit Midtown where he kept all his fancy dresses. But you figure he had to wear them somewhere, otherwise-"
"He'd be all dressed up and nowhere to go," Lee said.
"Exactly!" Butts said, raising his coffee cup as though it were a glass of champagne. "His sister finally spilled the beans, after a little persuasion that it would help find his killer."
"Well done, Detective," said Morton.
"Wait-there's more," Butts said, setting down his coffee. He was clearly enjoying himself. "Get this: Vic Number Two liked to hang out in tranny bars." He looked at them, awaiting their response.
"Wow," Lee said. "How did you get that information?"
"Let's just say that it involved a trip to Christopher Street and about a day's salary in tips to a certain bartender."
"How did you know where to go?" Krieger asked.
Butts shrugged. "I got friends in vice downtown-they know all the tranny hookers. Some of them work outta this place."
Lee always found it ironic that "vice" in law enforcement referred to illegal sex and drugs, as though those were the only offenses deserving that description.
"Do we have an ID on yesterday's victim yet?" Krieger asked.
"Yep," said Chuck. "Name's Joe Grieco, twenty-four years old, contractor working in his dad's business in Nutley, New Jersey. He was arrested for drunk driving on Friday, held overnight in the Tombs, then disappeared until he turned up yesterday with his head buried in a men's room toilet. He was ID'd by his friend he'd been out partying with on Friday."
"We should interview the friend as soon as possible," Lee said.
"As soon as we're done here," Chuck said. "I've got his cell number and address in Jersey."
"I'll do it," Butts said. "I live just down the road."
"Okay," Chuck said, picking up a manila envelope from his desk. "Now, this is what we're not going to release to the media." He fished out an eight-by-ten glossy crime-scene photo and pinned it up on the bulletin board next to the others.
Krieger put her hand to her mouth. "Jesus," Butts murmured, staring at it. The crime-scene photo showed a young man with his eyes neatly cut out of their sockets.
"That's Joe-the latest vic?" Butts asked.
"Yeah," said Chuck.
They all looked at Lee.
"What do you think it means?" Chuck asked.
Lee stared at the photo, thinking of Ana-at least he didn't have to see her face this way. A shiver wormed its way down his back.
"It could be something specific to this victim. Or-" Krieger looked intently at him. "Or what?" "His signature is evolving." "That's not good," Butts said.
"In either case, it means something-the question is what?" Chuck asked.
"With the eyes, my first thought is there's an association with watching or being watched," Lee answered.
Krieger cocked her elegant head to one side and crossed her arms. "You mean he doesn't want the victim looking at him?"
"Or he does want to be looked at, which is why he took the eyes as trophies."
"Or maybe he's conflicted about that, too," Chuck offered.
"Either way, it's a good bet that it's linked to a specific trauma in his past," Lee said.
"Perhaps someone he loved went blind," Krieger suggested.
Lee rubbed his left temple, which was beginning to throb. "Could be. But whatever happened, it became sexualized for him-and filled him with rage."
"You really know all that from what he did?" Krieger asked. Like her smile, her tone was half challenge and half flirtation.
"There are certain constants you learn to recognize," Lee said.
"Such as?" Krieger leaned on the windowsill so that the afternoon sun fell on her upswept hair, bringing out the gold highlights. Lee wondered whether the move was conscious or not-he still was undecided about some aspects of Elena Krieger's personality.
"Mutilation of a corpse almost always has a sexual element," he replied.
"The mutilations are postmortem," Chuck pointed out.
"What does that tell you?"
"That he wasn't driven by sadism-otherwise he would have done it when they were alive."
"Assuming he could control them that well," Butts pointed out, digging through his jacket pockets, looking for something. "What was the cause of death?"
"Strangulation," Chuck said.
"So he's strong," Krieger mused.
"Or he takes his victims by surprise," Lee added.
"So he didn't want them looking at him after they were dead," Krieger said.
"That don't make sense," Butts said, taking a bite of a powdered doughnut. "They can't see him once they're dead."
"Exactly," Lee agreed. "Or hear him."
"I don't understand," said Chuck.
"Hey, I think I know what you're gettin' at," Butts said. "When I was a kid, I had to go to my uncle's funeral, which was open casket. It freaked me out, lookin' at this dead guy lyin' there, and I kept waiting for his eyes to open. It was creepy-I had nightmares about it for weeks."
"So maybe something like that happened to him when he was a child?" Krieger suggested. She looked really engaged now, and had dropped her confrontational manner.
"Whatever it was," Lee said, "it filled him with a rage so deep that he has to kill over and over." He looked at the picture of poor Joe, his empty eye sockets blind as Justice herself.
"And the note?" he said.
Chuck handed him a photocopy of a handwritten note, in the same block letters as the others.
Next time I'll look twice before being such a bad boy – not.
"So now he's a comedian," Butts remarked with disgust. "It's time for some undercover work," Krieger said to
Chuck.
He frowned at her, then scratched the back of his neck.
"I don't know. It sounds too dangerous, especially-"
"For a woman?" she said, challenging him.
"I was going to say especially after so many deaths in so short a time. We're dealing with either a particularly driven or desperate killer."
"I'm not afraid," Krieger snorted.
"You may not be," Chuck said, "but-"
Krieger wheeled around to face Lee. "Do you agree?" she demanded.
"I guess I do," he said. "Some serial killers wait weeks or months between victims, but this one is working very fast. That could indicate he's very confident or becoming more and more enraged, and heading for a breakdown. Either way, it means he's extremely dangerous."
Krieger snorted and whipped around to focus her attention on Butts, who was calmly munching on a Bavarian creme doughnut.
"And what do you think?"
Butts held up the doughnut and inspected it as if it were a precious gem.
"I say if that's what you want, go for it." Krieger turned to the others triumphantly. "Well?" Chuck shook his head. "I don't like it."
"But that's what I do," she protested, her voice sharp with impatience.
"I thought you were a linguistic forensic specialist," Butts said.
"That, too," she snapped back.
"Okay," Chuck said reluctantly. "But you carry a cell phone and you have a uniformed and plainclothes officer on your tail every second. See Sergeant Ruggles and he'll arrange it."
Krieger's face broke into a broad smile, showing large, somewhat horsy teeth. Lee realized this was the first time he had seen her really smile. He hoped it wasn't going to be the last.