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“They got plenty of prints,” Ganzinger says, “all probably useless. Most of them in one place. Men who use the urinal have a tendency to prop their fingers on the wall while they do their business.”
Izzy thinks of what Holly would say about that:Oough. Even with the Porta-John’s door open, the smell of human waste wafts out.
“Security cams?” Tom asks.
“Six.” Ganzinger cocks a thumb toward the woods. “Five of them point at the trailheads. The sixth is up there on that pole, looking at the toilets. That one’s been broken since last year. The Park Service guy who came out says it gets vandalized regularly. What happens is people who don’t want to be seen sometimes use those toilets for what you might call nefarious purposes. This last time it was too broke to be fixed, and there’s no money for a replacement.”
“Pretty high up there,” Izzy says. “Someone with good aim must have hucked a rock at it.”
“I bet you could hit it,” Tom tells her. And to Ganzinger, “She’s our starting pitcher in next week’s Guns and Hoses game.”
“Don’t remind me,” Izzy says.
Lew Warwick has requested—no,mandated—her appearance at a City Center press conference later this afternoon, the purpose being to build interest in the game and thus drive up charitable contributions. He’s promised that she won’t have to say much, but she doesn’t entirely trust him on that, and although Lew is her boss, she couldn’t resist pointing out that with Sista Bessie onboard to sing the National Anthem, “building interest” is really unnecessary; the game will be SRO. She knows the presser is actually an opportunity for PD Chief Alice Patmore and Fire Commissioner Darby Dingley (the stupidest name in the universe, as far as Izzy is concerned) to get their faces on the evening news. And all that’s for later. Now she asks Ganzinger if there were tire tracks.
“Yes. Good ones.” He holds up his pad, shielding it from the sun with his hand so she and Tom can get a good look at the photos. “Confidence is high that these were made by the perp’s car. This was a spur-of-the-moment deal.”
“Impulse murder,” Tom says.
Ganzinger nods. “Sinclair was hitching his way to D.C., then maybe on to New York. Perp didn’t take his wallet, so we were able to talk to his parents.”
“I hate making those calls,” Tom says.
“Don’t we all,” Ganzinger says. “We’ve got a gal at the post who’s pretty good with breaking news like that.”
No one is good at those calls, Izzy thinks.
“Anyway, perp picks Sinclair up. Pulls into the park, just drove around the gate, which is where we got these tire impressions. Shoots him multiple times in the car—less noise that way, but the Scoutmaster still heard it—then drags him to the toilet. The drag marks start near the tire tracks.”
“Are the tracks useful?” Tom asks. “Please say they are.”
Ganzinger shakes his head. “We got a computer match right away, because they’re nice and sharp. Toyo Celsius II. They come on Toyotas, Highlanders, RAV4s. Other models, too, like Priuses, but the vehicle that made these is bigger. I think it was a Toyota sedan.”
“Of which there are roughly a gazillion in this state,” Izzy says. “Did the guy have a sign?”
“Sign?” Ganzinger looks blank.
“Hitchhikers sometimes hold up signs with their destinations on them.”
“We didn’t find anything like that,” Ganzinger says. “Do you want to poke around a little?”
Izzy and Tom look at each other. Tom shrugs. Izzy says, “We should get back to the city. I’ve got a dog-and-pony show to attend. If you get any interesting hits on those fingerprints, let us know.”
“Will do. You guys have a nice day.”
On their way back to their car, Tom says, “It would be a nice day if the guy stopped to take a piss after propping the guy on the bench seat.”
“And braced himself against the wall with his fingertips,” Izzy adds. “Wouldn’t that be a world. You want to drive?”
5
In Iowa City, Kate and Holly are consulting with Detective Daniel Speck in the office of the Radisson’s manager. Corrie has gone in search of new luggage for her boss. Holly doesn’t love the girl going out on her own,but Corrie has her marching orders, and at least she can’t be mistaken again for the woman the stalker is really after. At least Holly hopes not.
Kate is furious about the ruination of her L.L.Bean suitcases, but glad the bitch who did the deed didn’t have time enough to rip them open and trash her clothes.
Holly is also interested in clothes, but not Kate’s. She asks the manager what sort of outfits the Radisson chambermaids wear. He tells her blue dresses with scalloped collars. Holly turns to Detective Speck. “I’m pretty sure I saw the woman who did it. She was on the third floor, pretending to push a trolley. Wearing a brown dress that looked very… very housekeeperly.”
“I’ll check the security footage,” Speck says, “but if she knew enough to keep her head down…”