Page 143 of Cold, Cold Bones

“Charles Anthony Hunt died of CO poisoning in his garage this past Friday night, an apparent suicide.”

Everyone waited while I drew a deep breath.

“Toxicology screening showed traces of peanut protein in Charlie’s system. He was severely allergic and fanatically careful, checking labels, querying waiters, carrying an EpiPen. He would never, under any circumstances, eat anything containing peanuts. Especially in hisown house. Peanut residue was detected in a liquor bottle in Charlie’s home office.”

Up went photos of another suicide that wasn’t.

“In 2008, this man, an ER physician, died of CO poisoning in his garage. Toxicology screening picked up chloral hydrate in his system. It was later established that the doctor hadn’t knowingly ingested the drug.”

I moved on to the last set of files.

“Andrea-Louisa Soto, an eighteen-year-old Chilean national, was murdered in an intentional hit-and-run last Saturday night.” I posted Andrea-Louisa’s photo. It showed a teenaged girl with light brown skin and long black hair.

“Ara, last name unknown, was a fifteen-year-old Afghan national murdered in an intentional hit-and-run in 2013.” I posted Ara’s photo. It showed a teenaged girl with light brown skin and long blond hair, dark at the roots.

The room was deathly quiet as I added my last pair of images to the collection of old cases. A school portrait of a young girl smiling into the lens. A small pale body surrounded by yellow tape, limbs and hair posed by the hands of a killer.

I gazed at the face I’d studied so many times. At the dusting of caramel freckles. At the long brown hair, center parted and woven into braids. At the sparkling green eyes so hopeful and full of life. A life denied her by a psychopath.

I swallowed.

“In 2009, Lizzie Nance was abducted in broad daylight while walking home from a ballet class. Her body was found in a nature preserve northwest of town. Lizzie was murdered when she was eleven years old.”

The similarity in MO was indisputable, the resemblance between Olivia Lakin and Lizzie Nance striking.

“Same race, same age, same body size, same hair style,” Slidell said, voice controlled. In cop mode.

“No bangs, no glasses, no braces,” Ryan said. “Things common in kids that age.”

“I don’t know,” Henry said, sounding dubious. “That describes a lot of kids. So do freckles and braids.”

Slidell stared hard at the images, a tiny vessel throbbing in his temple. “This psycho has gone too far.”

“Think it’s another threat?” Ryan’s face was without expression or humor. “Or would he really harm the girl?”

“Don’t matter his intent. No one grabs a kid on my watch.”

I didn’t point out that, being retired, Skinny has no watch.

“From this moment, we think about nothing but nailing this prick.” Slidell turned to me. “Tell me again. Who’d you finger as possible perps?”

“I didn’t really see all of those people as serious—”

“Just gimme the names.”

I listed those I’d mentioned earlier: my bitter former student, Terrence Edy; my angry neighbor, Alasdair Campbell; the murder-besotted prepper, Bobby Karl Kramden; the hostile homeless vet, Winky Winkard.

“I did some interviews at the shelter,” Henry said. “Couple guys said Winkard was bad news.”

“Write down the goddam names,” Slidell barked.

I did. As I scribbled, was reminded of bossy Yolanda at thejoyería.

Slidell handed the list to Papadopoulos. “By lunch, I want a report on every skin cell these jerks ever shed.”

Papadopoulos took the paper, handed it on, and began tapping keys.

Slidell turned to Chan and O’Reilly, the pair manning the phone lines. “You two go through the doc’s files. Same focus.”