Hide (Detective D.D. Warren, #2)(73)

He was skimming the copy of Tony Rock's report from Crime Stoppers, identifying five overlapping names between the two lists.

"What I need next," McGahagin stated heavily, "is a victimology report. If Callahan can give me a physical description of the remains, there's a chance I can make a match with an unsolved case. Then we could go to work on making a positive ID, which in turn would give us a time line for the mass grave. Bada bing, bada boom."

McGahagin stared at D.D. expectantly

She returned his look levelly "What the hell do you want me to do, Jerry? Pull six victimology reports out of my ass?"

"Come on, it's been four f*cking days, D.D. How can we still know nothing about the six remains?"

"It's called wet mummification," D.D. shot back hotly. "And nobody's ever dealt with it in New England before."

"Then with all due respect to Christie, call someone who has."

"She did."

[page]"What?" McGahagin appeared startled. Investigators made requests for resources, experts, forensic tests all the time. That didn't mean the powers-that-be granted them. "Christie is getting reinforcements?"

"Tomorrow, I'm told. Some hotshot from Ireland who specializes in this shit and is curious to see a 'modern' example. The DA sprung for the dough—apparently the Crime Stoppers hotline isn't the only one going insane. The entire city is flooding the governor's office with hysterical complaints that a serial killer is loose and going to murder their daughters next. Which reminds me, the governor would like us to solve this case, mmm, about five minutes ago."

D.D. rolled her eyes. The rest of the detectives managed a few chuckles.

"Seriously, folks," D.D. resumed speaking. "Christie is trying. We're all trying. She believes she needs one more week. So we can sit on our hands and whine, or, here's a thought, conduct some good old-fashioned police work."

She returned her attention to McGahagin. "You said you had a list of twenty-six missing females from Massachusetts? Twenty-six seems like a lot to me."

"As Tony said, it's a shitty world."

"You graph 'em? Do we have, say, a cluster of activity around certain dates?"

"Seventy-nine to eighty-two was not a good time to be a young female in Boston."

"How bad?"

"Nine cases in four years, all unsolved."

"Age parameters?"

"Zero to eighteen."

D.D. considered him. "And if you narrow the age range to, say, between five years old and fifteen?"

"Drops it to seven."

"Names?"

He did the honors, including Dori Petracelli.

"Locations?"

"All over. Southie, Lawrence, Salem, Waltham, Woburn, Marlborough, Peabody If we make the assumption same subject was responsible for six of the seven cases…"

"By all means, let's assume away."

"You're talking someone with a vehicle, for one," McGahagin considered. "Someone who knows his way around the state, is comfortable blending in in a lot of different places. Maybe a utility worker, a repair person. Someone smart. Organized. Ritualized in his approach."

"Time line fits Eola," Sinkus commented. "Released in '78, doesn't have anything better to do…"

"Except," D.D. murmured, "incidents wind down in '82. Eola wouldn't have any reason to stop. Eola could theoretically go on forever. Which, frankly, would be true of any perpetrator. Predators don't magically just wake up one day and repent. Something happened. Other events, influences, must have interceded. Which brings us to"—her gaze shifted, found Bobby—"Russell Granger."

Bobby sighed, tilted back his chair. He'd been so busy since returning to HQ he hadn't had time to piss, let alone prepare notes. He had all eyes on him now, the city guys sizing up the state game. He did the best he could off the top of his head.

"According to police reports, Russell Granger first reported a Peeping Tom at his Arlington home in August of 1982. This set in motion a chain of events that culminated with Russell packing up his family and disappearing two months later, ostensibly to protect his seven-year-old daughter, Annabelle. So at first blush, we have a targeted victim—Annabelle Granger—and her poor, beleaguered father. Except…"

"Except," D.D. agreed.

Bobby held up a finger. "One," he said briskly, "Catherine Gagnon, who was abducted in 1980, recognized a photo of Russell Granger. Except Gagnon knew him as an FBI agent who interviewed her twice in the hospital after her rescue. That would be November of 1980, almost two years before the Peeping Tom report Russell Granger would file in Arlington."

Rock had appeared to be nodding off at the table. This information, however, brought his head snapping up. "Huh?"

"Our thoughts exactly. Two, during his visits with Catherine, Granger produced a composite sketch for her consideration. Catherine said the black-and-white didn't match her attacker. Granger tried to insist it did, got upset when she stayed firm, said it didn't. So, was the sketch an attempt on the part of Granger to distract Catherine, or did he honestly have a suspect in mind as her rapist? I have my opinion." He jerked his head toward D.D. "The sergeant has hers.