A Killer's Mind (Zoe Bentley Mystery #1)(21)

“So?” the ME asked as he put a paper bag on the second hand.

“She was used to being in the sun in shirts that exposed her body.” Zoe chewed her lip. “There’s a good chance she was a prostitute.”

“Or a bike delivery girl,” Tatum said. “Or a Cubs cheerleader. Or an unemployed girl who liked to walk in the morning in a spaghetti strap shirt. You can’t deduce—”

“I’m not deducing anything,” Zoe said sharply. “But one of the previous victims was a prostitute. High-risk victims are the main targets of serial killers. I think it’s probable.”

Irritated, Tatum turned and walked away. He approached the civilian who stood with Lieutenant Martinez. The man had blond hair and an almost invisible mustache. The contrast to Martinez’s facial hair was very noticeable.

“Is this the guy who found the body?” Tatum asked.

“Yup.” Martinez nodded. “Dan Finley.”

“And I really need to go,” Dan said, his voice high. “I have business to attend to and—”

“What kind of business?” Tatum asked.

“I’m a quinoa supplier. I have stores and restaurants that depend on me. These days, if you’re late on one shipment, people move on to a different supplier. There’s no loyalty, no partnership. It’s every man for—”

“What time did you get to the beach?” Tatum asked.

“I went through this twice already. How many times do you expect me to answer the same questions?”

“It’s a murder investigation, Mr. Finley,” Martinez said. “We don’t want to make any mistakes. I’m sure you understand that.”

“Like I told the others, I got to the beach around eight.”

“And you didn’t report the body until nine thirty?” Tatum asked.

“I didn’t know she was dead. I thought she was crying.”

“There was a woman crying on the beach for an hour and a half before you checked it out?”

“No one else approached her either. I didn’t want to intrude,” Dan said, his mouth twisted in bitterness. “These days you can’t go to the beach without something like this happening.”

“You can’t go to the beach without finding a dead body?” Tatum looked at the man, incredulous.

Dan pursed his lips and said nothing. Tatum shook his head and walked away. Martinez joined him a minute later.

“Third victim,” Tatum told Martinez.

Martinez nodded. “And only eleven days after the last one.”

Tatum folded his arms, looking at the lake. He was frustrated and worried. He hoped they’d manage to get the killer before a fourth dead woman showed up.





CHAPTER 13

Zoe stared at her chicken salad with disinterest. Aside from the parking spot they had found nearby, the place they had stopped for lunch didn’t have a lot going for it. The waitress—a curt, unpleasant woman with a rash on her neck—had recommended the chicken salad. She said it was her favorite dish. Zoe doubted that. The chicken was dry and spiced with an unidentifiable green herb, and the vegetables had been frozen and defrosted so many times they had the texture of a napkin.

The company didn’t help her appetite either. Tatum was surly and silent, stewing in his rage. He ate a hamburger, taking huge bites and swallowing them without chewing more than a couple of times. Clearly, he wanted to get this lunch over with.

Finally, he put down his half-eaten burger and said, “You could have backed me up. Staking out the crime scenes is a solid approach, and now Martinez won’t do it.”

“It wouldn’t have done any good,” Zoe said, trying her best to stay patient. Back at the most recent crime scene, Tatum had made her question her own deductions, and she’d said nothing to Martinez about her theory that the victim had been a prostitute. She regretted that now. “The killer won’t return there.”

“You don’t know that. You’re only guessing.”

“I am not guessing,” Zoe said sharply. “I am deducing from previous cases and from the available evidence. That’s what I do. That’s my job.”

“Speaking of your job, couldn’t you have been a bit subtler with Bernstein? I brought you here to shake their trust in him, not to decimate him.”

“You’re not the one who brought me here. Mancuso sent me. And she sent me to consult with the Chicago police. Which is what I did and what I’m still doing.”

“Consult? You’re like Dr. Bernstein. The two of you are no better than psychics. Inventing stories for the detectives, messing with the investigation, just to justify your paycheck.”

Her face heated up, her heart racing. She felt like grabbing the chicken salad and chucking it in his face. “Fuck you. You know what, Tatum? I don’t know what your damn problem is with me. The reason I didn’t back you up was because your suggestion was dumb. Anyone with a shred of experience with serial killers could have seen that. But of course, you don’t have any experience. You got to the BAU because they didn’t want you anywhere else. So get over the size of your penis or your bed-wetting issue or whatever it is you’re compensating for, and man up. If you want me to back you up, you’ll have to keep up with me. And I move fast.”