Velocity (Karen Vail #3)(25)

Vail brushed a lock of red hair behind her ear. “John Mayfield’s the Crush Killer. We didn’t release any details of the murders to the press, so the only people who know what Mayfield did with the bodies would be Mayfield himself—which isn’t possible because of the timing—or he had a partner. That wasn’t evident at any of the crime scenes, so if I had to guess—and that’s what I’m doing here—he was mentoring someone, teaching him how to kill. Someone with a similar personality. Narcissistic.”

“James Cannon,” Brix said. “Mayfield’s bodybuilding buddy.”

“That’d be the first place I’d look.”

“Cannon’s out of town,” Dixon said.

“Says who? Cannon?” Vail turned to the others. “I called him a little while ago and left a voice mail, told him I was sorry for turning him away, that I wanted to grab lunch or dinner with him. He texted back and said he’d love to, but he’s out of town.”

“Which could be bullshit,” Brix said.

Vail kicked at a dead branch by her feet. “If he’s our guy, yeah, it’d be bullshit.”

Gordon shifted his thick legs. “Do you think your call tipped him off?”

“Anything’s possible,” Vail said. “But if he’s a narcissist, he probably wouldn’t permit himself to think we’re on to him so soon. He thinks he’s smarter than us, and my message was a little suggestive of some sexual rendezvous, which would play right into his mind-set. I think we’re okay.” She thought a moment, then added: “If this body is fresh—and it looks like she is—then clearly, he’s comfortable killing. And he’s comfortable bringing the body to a public place.”

“What do we know about the vic?” Austin Mann asked.

“Not a whole lot,” Brix said. “We didn’t want to disturb the scene till we got that water shut.” Thirty feet away, as if on cue, the fountain stopped bubbling. Heads turned. Aaron moved toward the woman’s body.

“We should have a few answers soon,” Burt Gordon said.

“Why here?” Brix asked. “Why did he dump the body here?”

“He didn’t just dump the body,” Vail said. “He posed her. And he placed her facing the street. Posing is a very different behavior. The Crush Killer left his victims out in the open where they’d be found, for sure. But this woman wasn’t just left in public. She was placed at the Hall of Justice, right in the front, posed. For all to see. You can’t get much more insulting to law enforcement, much more ‘in your face’ than leaving her right on our doorstep. He’s sending a message.”

Mann shifted his gaze beyond Vail to the area around the fountain. “And that message would be?”

“That he’s better than us, smarter than us. That he can kill this woman right in front of the Hall of Justice and get away with it. That he’s above the law, that we can’t stop him. That he’s in control.”

“You talked to this James Cannon,” Gordon said. “Based on what you saw, is he capable of doing that?” He gestured with his chin toward the victim. “I mean, is it possible?”

Vail and Dixon shared a look.

Dixon answered. “Yeah, I think so. His demeanor when Karen rejected him. He took it personally, almost as if he was so far superior to any other man—how could she reject him?” She held up a hand. “Now, that’s looking at it in hindsight, maybe with a slightly skewed view. But you’re asking if it’s possible. I think it is.”

“I agree,” Vail said. “But it could also be more complex. By doing the kill this way, he could be saying, ‘I’m my own guy. I’m my own killer. So I’m going to do things differently.”

Mann said, “Differently meaning the posing, the location of the victim.”

“Yeah.”

“What about the handcuffs?” Mann asked. “Gotta be some meaning behind that.”

“For sure. It’s part of the message. He left her at a police station.”

“Nothing deeper?” Dixon asked.

“Who can say at this point? Is it a taunt? That we’re prisoners to his reign of terror? Yeah, okay. At this point, it’s just a guess.” Vail pulled her Glock, stepped forward, and carefully lifted the cuffs with the tip of the barrel.

“What are you doing?” Gordon asked.

“All cuffs have serial numbers, manufacturers and model numbers, right?” Vail leaned in close. “Serial number should be just below the key post. Four-five-three-five-one-one.”

Brix typed the numbers into his phone.

“Model number’s a seven hundred. Peerless.”

Brix looked up. “Peerless. That’s what we use. The Sheriff ’s Department.”

“That’s what most law enforcement agencies use,” Mann said.

“You can buy a set on Amazon for thirty bucks,” said Aaron, who’d moved beside Vail to look at the cuffs. “I wouldn’t make too big a deal out of it. Security guards use ’em, too.”

Vail frowned. “Track the serial number. You keep records at the department, right? Who gets which set of cuffs?”

“Yeah,” Brix said. “I can check it against the database, see who they belong to. If it’s one of ours. But we gotta do it manually. It’s not computerized. We can also ask around, see if anyone’s lost a pair.”