Find Her (Detective D.D. Warren #8)(9)

“Got anything?” D.D. gestured to the shoe box in Neil’s hand. “Say, a stash of trophies from previous victims? According to our femme fatale, who apparently had never met Mr. Goulding before this evening, he’s definitely done this before and might even be the perpetrator responsible for the Boston College student who went missing in August.”

Neil blinked. “You mean the Stacey Summers case?”

“So I’m told.”

“By the woman who torched Devon in his own garage with her hands still tied?”

“The one and only.”

“Who is she again?”

“Interestingly enough, she was more forthcoming on Devon’s alleged crimes than her own. But she’s convinced he’s a serial predator, and we should definitely check for trophies.”

“She looks familiar,” Neil said. “I can’t quite place her. But when I first arrived and spotted her . . . I thought I knew her from somewhere.”

“Quantico?” D.D. asked helpfully, as Neil had recently attended a training seminar there for detectives, and it would certainly explain the woman’s knowledge of criminal behavior.

But Neil was shaking his head. “I don’t think so. Then again . . .”

“You ever hear about this chemical-fire thing?” she asked him now, Neil having the most extensive science background on her squad. Former squad.

“Yeah. One of those survival tricks for when lost in the wilderness, that sort of thing. Gotta admit, though, if I woke up trapped in a garage with my hands bound . . . Not sure that’s the first thing that would pop into my head.”

“Seems to indicate higher-than-average self-defense skills.”

“Here’s the thing, though,” Neil continued, rising to his feet. “It shouldn’t have killed Goulding. Incapacitated, maimed, traumatized, sure. But localized burning, relatively low heat . . . You’d be amazed at how much the human body can endure and keep on ticking. I’ve seen victims pulled from fiery wrecks with two-thirds of their skin toasted, and still, with enough time and treatment, they make it.”

D.D. shuddered. She didn’t like burns. She’d once been sent to interview a survivor in a burn unit who was having the dead skin literally scraped from his back. Based on the guy’s screams, she’d assumed he was dying, only to be told the whole treatment was designed to fix him. Not enough morphine in the world, the nurse had offered helpfully, scouring away.

“Now, it’s possible Devon inhaled heat and smoke into his throat,” Neil was saying. “Maybe seared his esophagus, which swelled up, closing his airway. But what the witness described sounded more instantaneous. Which made me think maybe he went into shock and his heart stopped beating.”

“Okay,” D.D. said. She still didn’t know where they were going with this, but Neil had worked as an EMT before he became a cop. He often saw things she and Phil didn’t.

“Of course, the deceased is a young, obviously fit male. Bodybuilder, by the looks of things.”

“You could see that?” D.D. asked incredulously, recalling the curled-up lump of charred remains.

“You couldn’t?”

“Never mind.”

“Which leads to further considerations. Bodybuilders have been known to dabble in anabolic steroids, which in turn can lead to a whole host of symptoms, including high blood pressure and an enlarged heart.”

“And shrunken testicles,” D.D. offered up. “High blood pressure is news to me, but the shrunken testicles, I’m pretty sure about.”

Neil rolled his eyes. “We’ll let the ME measure testicle size. Based on this, however, we’re probably both right.” He jiggled the shoe box, and D.D. could hear the telltale noise of glass vials rattling together. “Devon Goulding was definitely shooting up ’roids. For how long, I couldn’t tell you. But even short-term use could have impacted his heart, and been a contributing factor in his death.”

“What about roid rage?” D.D. asked, considering the matter. “I always thought that meant flying off the handle, but could it have led him to abduct a girl from a bar?”

“Beyond my pay grade,” Neil said with a shrug. “In theory, long-term steroid abuse leads to diminished sex drive, which begs the question why would he want to kidnap a girl from a bar.”

“Giving in to his darker impulses was the only way he could get interested anymore? Violence his last remaining turn-on?”

Neil shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Based upon this box, I think we can safely assume Devon Goulding used steroids and it probably was a factor in his death. As for evidence of past crimes, additional victims, only one way to find out.” Neil set down the box, took one step toward the narrow dresser that was crammed up against the wall, and started pulling out drawers.

D.D. let him do it. She was on restricted duty after all. Neil could ransack the room. She crossed to the bed and inspected the contents of Goulding’s shoe box. In addition to various colorfully labeled glass jars, there were numerous baggies of unmarked pills, supplements, hormones, God only knew. Could steroid abuse have led to Goulding’s crime spree? Their lone survivor had implied she hadn’t known him at all, had been at the bar with another man until Goulding had knocked out bachelor A and absconded with the girl. Certainly sounded primitive enough. It also sounded impulsive to D.D. Serial predators were more likely to stalk their victims, plan out the abduction. Whereas snatching a girl from outside a bar—