Page 117 of Girl Between

Dana wasn’t in the mood to drink, but the ice-cold beverage Neville set in front of her was the only relief she was being offered.

She was in a foul mood for multiple reasons. One being Shepardstill hadn’t called her back. She checked her phone again.Yep, still works.

The other reason she was so surly was thanks to Agent Creed’s dismissive attitude toward the first solid lead they had in the case.

She, George, and the rest of the NOPD managed to gather extensive information on both Fontera and Monroe. And with Taurant’s positive ID, she’d expected things to move quickly.

But Creed had unceremoniously dismissed them with a, “Good work. We’ll take it from here.”

Which was why they were trying to dull their wounds with cheap beer.

“I hate this part,” Dana said, picking at the label on her ice-cold bottle of Abita.

“So do I,” LaSalle grumbled as she claimed the seat next to Dana at the pock-marked pub table.

George was seated on Dana’s other side, with the rest of his team gathered intermittently around on mismatched furniture which consisted of church pews, rickety wooden chairs, and uncomfortable barstools.

The only thing about Boondock Saint that lifted Dana’s spirits was the dive bar’s K-9 patrons. The dog-friendly establishment offered water bowls, cool floors, and shade—all the tongue-lolling regulars seemed to require.

Dana watched a chocolate lab roll over to accept belly rubs from Richter, who surprised Dana by stopping to greet each of the three dogs in the bar.

She drained her Abita and grabbed a fresh beer from the bucket on the table. “It’s Monroe, I know it,” Dana muttered, unable to get his homicidal face out of her mind. “He fits the profile.”

The fact that the now forty-seven-year-old Louisiana native didn’t smile in any of the photos they came across wasn’t enough to prove to a judge he was a bloodthirsty killer. But Creed assured them the rest of the evidence they’d compiled would be enough for a warrant.

They’d learned Monroe, an only child, grew up in rural Louisiana, working his family’s farm and slaughterhouse. He’dearned himself an academic scholarship to LSU, where he’d been pre-med. During that time, he worked at a funeral home and gave tours around the city to make extra money. After Katrina, he was one of the first to join VIGOR, the volunteer EMS program.

In Dana’s opinion, it was the perfect recipe to cook up the Casquette Girl killer.

Monroe’s schooling and jobs had all but trained him in everything he needed to know to pull off these murders. The EMS uniform would make him appear trustworthy. He’d have no problem gaining access to the drugs necessary to sedate his prey, transport them in the ambulance back to the family slaughterhouse, and then mutilate them thanks to everything he’d learned in the family business and as a pre-med. His knowledge of local folklore could’ve easily come from his days playing tour guide, and his funeral home job gave him knowledge of embalming and access to cemeteries.

The nail in the proverbial coffin of his profile was when Monroe suddenly lost his financial aid and dropped out of LSU. The timing of which fit perfectly with when the body count increased.

Everyone on the task force agreed Dana’s theory was plausible, but there were still gaps to fill in. Like the drastic change in MO. Starting with men, then changing to solely target white women. Discarding victims in the bayou or off some long-forgotten stretch of road, to displaying them in cemeteries. Not to mention they still had fourteen unidentified victims, all from the earliest Jane Does they’d tied to the case.

“Why do you think he dropped out of school?” Dana asked.

“Does it matter?” Neville remarked.

“I think it does,” she pushed. “Monroe had a full ride. Someone from his meager background doesn’t just give that up for no reason.”

“Pre-med’s no picnic,” Lena said. “A lot of people burn out or flunk out.”

“I looked up his transcripts,” LaSalle said. “Monroe was top of his class.”

“We may not know why he dropped out,” George offered, “but if he’s our guy we can assume by then he’d already gotten a taste for thekill. Without access to med-school cadavers satisfying his cravings, he went after the real thing.”

Dana slapped the bar. “That’s it!”

“What is?” asked Richter.

“Medical cadavers! They were Monroe’s first victims!” Dana practically shouted.

“Uh, can we call them that if they’re already dead?” questioned Neville.

“No, she’s right,” Lena said, catching on. “We haven’t ID’d any of the first fourteen bodies associated with this case because we were looking in the wrong place.”

“Exactly!” Dana said, finally bringing the idea that’d been sparked at the drag brunch to fruition. “They were never missing persons. They were donated to science.”