The Third to Die Read online

  “On purpose?”

  “I don’t believe so. It seems that it was snagged on something sharp. The bottom of her foot has a small cut on it at the point where the hose was snagged.”

  “That’s good, Doc.”

  “I swabbed her foot for particulates, which I also sent to the lab. There appeared to be a color to it, possibly paint, but to the naked eye I couldn’t state with certainty.”

  “So, theoretically, she could have lost her shoe during the attack or in the vehicle the suspect transported her in.” Which may have even been her own car because they hadn’t located it yet. “Cut her foot at some point, but on something that was painted, which wouldn’t be in the middle of the woods.”

  “It’s a theory, at any rate.”

  Definitely something to mull over. But the key thing was that if they found a suspect, they had something specific to look for on his property. Matching trace evidence could make the difference for the prosecution.

  Reynolds said, “You didn’t ask about the stethoscope.”

  “I didn’t think she was strangled. Was she?”

  “No. The stethoscope was wrapped around her neck after she was already dead. I sent it to the lab—I don’t think it was hers.”

  Now that was interesting. “Why?”

  “It was new. I don’t think it’s been used much, if at all. There was still some plastic around a portion of the tubing. Plus, we found a second stethoscope—a used one—in the pocket of her scrubs.

  More than a little interesting, but Matt didn’t know what to make of it. “Thanks.”

  “Did the other victims have stethoscopes around their necks?”

  “No.”

  What did it mean? Matt had no idea. It seemed random, but it may have meant something to the killer.

  Or he could be simply fucking with them. Leaving something with one victim, taking something from another, cleaning up—he had a plan and executed it, yet tweaked a few small details. But never the manner of death. At least, he hadn’t if they had identified all his victims.

  He cut them down the middle, then sliced them another three times for good measure.

  Or three times because that was his lucky number. Three victims spaced three days apart every three years—starting, always, on the third day of the third month.

  Matt had his work cut out for him, and he didn’t even have his full team in place.

  Matt thanked Reynolds and Waring for their time, stepped out into the hall and emailed Catherine all the information he had at that point, including confirming that the MO held: they were looking for the Triple Killer. He then texted Ryder to send Catherine the Liberty Lake case files with photos. She hadn’t confirmed that she would assist, but Matt knew she would. She just needed the push. Seeing the crime scene, looking at the victim, would be that push.

  Matt had sympathy, but it was wearing thin. If Catherine hadn’t been a friend—if her husband wasn’t as close to him as his own brother—he wouldn’t have even had sympathy to begin with. What did that say about him?

  He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and focused on the case and what needed to be done. It was daunting.

  Maybe he would ask LAPD Detective Kara Quinn for an assist. If he could get over this uneasy feeling that he shouldn’t trust her.

  7

  Spokane

  11:15 a.m.

  Detective Andy Knolls introduced Matt to the head of the Spokane CSI unit, Miles Jordan. As soon as the thirty-five-year-old expert opened his mouth, Matt realized Jordan had been born a crotchety old man.

  “First LAPD, now the feds from DC? What the hell, Andy?” Jordan said. He acted more high-strung than angry.

  “Detective Quinn found the body. Los Angeles isn’t involved in your investigation.”

  “Detective Quinn wants my fucking job,” Jordan grumbled. “‘Did you look in the lake?’ she asks. ‘Did you collect a sample of this blood?’ she asks. Do I look like a fucking idiot?”

  It was a rhetorical question, but Andy responded. “She doesn’t know you, Miles. You know how people are down in Cali. All rushing around and rude. If there was evidence at the crime scene, you got it.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Jordan said. “I think I might have something for you, Andy.”

  “I knew you would.”

  Andy was an odd duck. He had the aw, shucks small town cop shtick down, but Matt suspected he was a lot smarter than he acted. One kiss-ass comment and Miles Jordan had calmed down.

  Matt decided to let Andy run with it—Andy knew what Matt needed, and Jordan seemed to respond better to him than to an outsider.

  Jordan tapped on a computer keyboard. The large monitor came to life. He typed as fast as he talked and crime scene photos popped up on the screen, one after the other. Matt wanted to look more carefully at them, but Jordan click click clicked them away until he stopped at one of the clearing where Kara Quinn thought the killer had cleaned up. He zoomed in.

  “I suppose because that Los Angeles cop is originally from Liberty Lake she’s not as stupid as I’d normally think,” Jordan said. “These are deep footprints on the edge of the lake, fifteen feet from the body. The water eroded them some, and they’re gone by now, but if you look carefully you can see the curvature of a foot. It’s clear they were made coming out of the lake. If you’re just going to wash your hands, you’d face the lake, right? But coming out?”

  “He waded in,” Matt said.

  Jordan shot him a dirty look. “No brainer, Mulder.” This wasn’t the first time Matt—or dozens of other feds—had been called Mulder after the popular ’90s television show, but the joke had worn thin years ago. “And he was barefoot. But there’s not enough detail in the mud to get an actual print. The area is too rocky.”

  “That’s good,” Andy said. “What else?”

  “So I processed the blood on the rock and it was definitely the victim’s blood—I don’t have a DNA match yet, but all the major points match and we’ll get it confirmed at the state lab.”

  Matt cleared his throat. “If you can’t process the evidence in-house, send it to Quantico, not the state lab. This is our case.”

  Jordan glared at him, then turned to Andy. “You okay with this, Andy? With the feds?”

  “Like I told you this morning, it’s a federal case. They have more resources than we do, and they have more bodies.”

  “And you put me in the middle of this?”

  “I don’t understand,” Andy said. “In the middle of what?”

  “Your boss called my boss and my boss called me and reamed me for not telling him the feds were jerking us around.” Jordan glanced at Matt. “His words, not mine.”

  Andy said, “When?”

  “Last night. I was having dinner with my sister, and you know how she hates when I answer my cell phone at the table, but when the chief of police calls—it was fucked. He’s pissed, and my sister is pissed.”

  Matt asked Andy, “Do we have a problem, Detective?”

  “I didn’t think so—I’ll straighten it out.”

  Matt was skeptical. It seemed Andy wanted the help, but maybe the political types in charge were going to be an issue. Andy was a detective, not the chief of police.

  Matt’s phone was vibrating; it was Ryder, and he sent the call to voice mail.

  Jordan said, “You know, our lab is one of the best in the West. I can handle most everything you need here.”

  “We can prioritize the evidence,” Matt said. He didn’t want to deal with jurisdictional bullshit when the timing of this killer was so tight. “If your lab can put this case to the top, you run with it. If not, we’ll take it.” Jordan still looked skeptical. “Andy is a major part of my investigation,” he added. “He’ll be working with me.” One reason Tony asked Matt to head the MRT unit was because he generally worked well with local cops. Tech guys
? Politicians? Not so much.

  Andy nodded. “Matt’s been up-front from the beginning.”

  Matt was relieved Andy was backing him up on this; it could mean the difference between total cooperation or complete shut out. He hoped he had the same success with the chief of police.

  “Victoria Manners is the seventh known victim of this killer and we have evidence from previous crime scenes,” Matt said. “Two of the victims were cops. That means another cop may be in danger here.” He glanced at Andy. “We’re going to have to alert law enforcement in particular. The two cops killed were both off-duty and out of uniform, but my instincts tell me they were specifically targeted because they were law enforcement. We don’t know why yet. And I’ll tell you something few people know—if we don’t find something soon, he’ll kill again in less than forty-eight hours on Saturday, March 6. He hasn’t deviated from his timeline yet.”

  “Sick prick,” Jordan mumbled.

  Matt asked, “Were you able to get prints from the rock?”

  He shook his head. “The surface isn’t conducive for prints. We didn’t find anything, even on the stethoscope. In fact, there were no prints on the stethoscope at all. He had to have worn gloves.” Jordan glanced smugly from Andy to Matt. “I should point out something else, because neither of you saw it.”

  Qué asno superior típico. Juega bien, Mathias.

  Asshole. Matt told himself to play nice, but it would be hard if Jordan played games.

  “Show me,” Matt said and put on his most diplomatic smile.

  Jordan zoomed in on one of the photos near the edge of the lake. “My educated opinion is that when the killer came out of the lake—he would have been freezing by the way—the lake temperature was thirty-nine degrees at 9:30 a.m. when I began to process the crime scene. I think he was in sort of a shock and fell down. Here—knee marks. Here—hands.” Jordan pointed to the impressions in the soil.

  “That’s good,” Matt said.

  Jordan was pleased with himself. “I did some calculations to see if I could determine height, but because of variations in average bone length, I can give you a rough estimate. He’s between five foot ten and six foot two—which is about 90 percent of the male population. And he wears between a size eleven and size twelve shoe. I would edge closer to size twelve, but again, because of the erosion from the water, it’s more difficult to give an exact number.”

  Matt decided to give Jordan a bone. “I can confirm that he wears a size twelve shoe. We have very little physical evidence at any of the previous crime scenes, but there were clear footprints left at two different crime scenes, both of which were outdoors.”

  Jordan was again pleased with himself. Sometimes, tech guys were the easiest to make happy, even though they frustrated Matt. Acknowledge their intelligence and skills, and they became your best friend.

  “My forensic expert will be here late today. Would you object to him stopping by and chatting with you tomorrow?”

  Jordan frowned. It was clear his lab was his domain. But he shrugged. “If I have time, I’ll debrief him. But I have to get it cleared with the chief. He’ll have my ass if I give you feds access to anything without his A-okay.”

  “Understood.” Matt glanced at Andy. “And we should nip any problems in the bud real quick, Detective.”

  Andy agreed.

  Matt hoped Andy dealt with any of the interjurisdictional bullshit that came up. Matt hated playing politics.

  To Jordan, Matt said, “I appreciate your cooperation. Please make a full set of your findings, including photos and tox screens, for my guy Dr. Jim Esteban. He’s retired from Dallas PD, where he was the chief criminologist for their lab for the past ten years.”

  Andy said, “Thanks for your help, Miles. Good work here.”

  “Yeah. I better get back to it.” Then he turned his back on them. “Just cover my butt with the chief, okay?” he called after them.

  “You got it,” Andy said.

  Matt and Andy left the lab and walked down the long hallway that connected the forensics building with the police department. Andy nodded to a cop who passed.

  “Miles is a smart guy, just prickly,” Andy explained.

  “Not my problem. Jim’s problem. Delegation has never been an issue for me. I just wish I had my full team here now. What’s going on with your boss?”

  “My apologies—I should have insisted you meet with him this morning when you arrived. We don’t get much violent crime in Liberty Lake.”

  “What’d you tell him?”

  “Unfortunately, he was out of the area yesterday. I immediately called about the homicide—but he didn’t know I had contacted your office until I sent a copy of my report. In hindsight, I should have asked you to contact him directly.”

  “Does he want to be involved?”

  “Not really—”

  “Spill it,” Matt said when Andy’s voice trailed off. “We don’t have time for this shit.”

  Andy cleared his throat. “He wants to be a part of every decision. Well, between you and me,” he said lowering his voice, “the chief wants credit for everything, but doesn’t really know what to do. He was elected Liberty Lake Chief of Police, but he wasn’t a cop. Everyone knows him.”

  “I get it,” Matt said. “Let’s get a meeting together ASAP, okay? I can’t dick around with this shit, but I don’t want to cause any delays in processing evidence. If I have to take over the entire case, I will, but I’d rather work with you—and I’ll tell him that if I have to.”

  “He won’t like threats, Matt.” Andy looked squeamish as he opened the door into the main police building. “Maybe the more-flies-with-honey approach?”

  Before Matt could comment, a high-ranking cop hailed them as they stepped inside.

  “Andy, have a minute?”

  “Of course, Chief.”

  Matt assessed him. He was a short, physically fit cop in his midforties with laugh lines around his eyes.

  He glanced at Matt, then said to Andy, “Miles treating you well?”

  “Very. Deputy Chief Brian Maddox, this is Special Agent in Charge Matt Costa. The FBI sent him and his team out from DC when they determined we may have ourselves a serial killer. A new mobile resource unit for rural communities.”

  “Sounds like an interesting operation,” Maddox said.

  “We hope it’ll be a valuable tool for local law enforcement,” Matt said.

  Brian Maddox shook Matt’s hand. “I was a cop in Liberty Lake for the first twelve years of my career. Trained Andy here. Moved to SPD ten years ago last month.”

  “Left us for the big city,” Andy said with a grin.

  “Left for the money,” Brian countered. “Not much room for advancement in a small police department with one detective and a chief for life.”

  “Not much happens at the lake, until now.”

  “Just so you know,” Brian said to both of them, “our resources are your resources. I’m assuming if the feds are here, there’s something serious going on.”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt said. “Seventh known victim of a killer who has killed in three states. He kills three random victims every three years.”

  “The Triple Killer? I read a federal briefing about him. That’s our victim at the lake?”

  “Yes, sir,” Matt said.

  “Call me Brian—or Maddox, I’ll answer to both. Do Dunn and Packard know?”

  “Yes,” Andy said. “I put it in my report last evening. I may have stirred the pot a bit by not talking to either of them directly. I don’t want Jordan to get in trouble for working with us. We need him.”

  “Shit,” Brian mumbled. “I got your back, Andy, and I’ll take care of it, okay?”

  “Thank you,” Matt said, relieved.

  Brian asked, “How much time do we have before we expect another body to drop?”

>   “Less than forty-eight hours,” Matt said. “His pattern has been to kill on the 3rd, 6th, and 9th of March. The first victims in both previous cycles were killed the morning of March 3, and the third victims in the evening of March 9. Twice he’s grabbed a victim before midnight the day before but waits until after midnight to kill them. It’s the date that seems to matter to him more than the time of day.”

  Brian said, “Matt, Andy, I need to get any information you have to my officers. I know this is going down in Liberty Lake, but the Spokane Valley isn’t that big. I live in Liberty Lake myself, several of my cops do, and I’ll do whatever I can to help, starting with taking point with the two chiefs.” He glanced at his watch. “Swing shift comes in at three-thirty, out at four—I’d like you to come back in a few hours and give us a briefing. I’ll keep the day shift over for a spell. You may have to deal with some local political shit, but ultimately, we have a good department. I don’t see Packard pulling some interagency crap, provided he gets a photo op.”

  “I’ll be here, Brian,” Matt said. “I appreciate your help.”

  “We all want the same thing—to find out who killed that nurse.”

  Brian Maddox nodded at them, then turned and left.

  “I screwed up,” Andy said.

  “Trust me, the feds rarely act this fast. I’ll take the heat, I’m used to it. Brian’s a good guy?”

  “The best. He was born and raised in Newman Lake, a tiny spot just north of Liberty. We went to the same high school—fifteen years apart. His wife is from Liberty and they still live there, on a spread east of the lake. He trained me my first year on the force, before he transferred to Spokane. That was more than ten years ago. If anyone can keep the politics to a minimum, it’s Brian.”

  “Do you ever want to move up and out?” Andy was in his early thirties. Liberty Lake was a small town—like Brian said, not much room for advancement.

  “My family is here. My fiancée’s family is here. I’m the oldest of four, she’s the oldest of six. I don’t need a fast-paced life, and I wouldn’t care if Victoria Manners is the last murder I ever investigate. And besides, Chief Dunn is sixty-one. He retires in three years. I can wait that long for the title and pay raise.”