Page 65 of Long Way Down

“Touché. But for whatever reason, he didn’t want to carve his tribute into Lana and Lynn.”

She frowned. “Which makes me wonder who his real target was.”

He lifted his brows, inviting her to explain.

“Okay, so.” She took the last sip of her Coke and pushed her dinner things aside. “We’ve got Lana and Lynn, who look similar, and are in the same art class. Then over here” – she spread her hands far apart on the tabletop – “you’ve got the victims Pongo told us about. Four prostitutes.”

“Who we can’t include in our investigation unless we know who they are, and if they’ll cooperate with us.”

“Right. If they’re legit victims – if Pongo’s telling us the truth – then there’s a big gap between the first four vics and the last two. We can’t know unless we interview them, but right now it seems safe to say they don’t move in the same circles as Lana and Lynn.”

“Do you think he wouldn’t tell the truth? Pongo, I mean?”

She made a face. “I don’t see why he’d lie. This doesn’t involve him in anyway…except the club’s on some kinda crusade lately, I think.”

That piqued his attention. “Really?”

She thought of a dark alley, and the click of plastic riot gear, visors pushed up onto helmets, and staggering, drugged girls wrapped hastily in towels and tablecloths. She swallowed hard and schooled her features. “I dunno,” she lied, and hoped it was convincing. “He said something about them doing the right thing or something.” She waved it off and, thankfully, he let her change the subject. “Let’s say what he said is true.”

“Then that means our guy either moves in two different circles…”

“Or the hookers were practice.”

Contreras nodded, face grim. “That’s my thought. It’s something I’ve read about in other serial cases before. It happens with murders sometimes, too. The perp wants to make sure their methods work, and so they test them out on a vic they think either won’t be missed or won’t come forward.”

“He experimented with the working girls, then, and Lana and Lynn were his main targets.” She circled the girls’ names, written one atop the other, and said, “Are they theonlytargets, though?”

“People can talk about rehab and therapy all they want, but in my estimation, once a guy starts raping, he doesn’t stop. He might not have another target picked out yet, but hewillpick one, eventually.”

“Or,” she said, skin crawling with nerves, “every woman in that class is in danger right now.”

Fourteen

From the notepad they moved to the whiteboard, separating the vics into three groups: those they couldn’t talk with, those whose rapes they were investigating, and a new column for potential vics; here, Melissa jotted down the names of all the other women in Lana and Lynn’s figure drawing class. Across the top of the board, she pinned their enlarged Polaroids of all the men they’d interviewed so far, from Jason, Lana’s ex, to Professor Dubois. Without alibis verified yet, with schedules still to check and another round of questions with both girls needed, it wasn’t possible to eliminate anyone yet. They each had their hunches, their doubts…and frustrations.

The captain came by, bald head bright and shiny thanks to the countless times he’d run his hand across its surface, a nervous tic he exercised while he stood over them, and shared his misgivings about tomorrow morning’s press conference. “These things never go well. There’s never enough goddamn answers for the press.”

“Do you want us there, sir?” Melissa asked, hoping he said ‘no,’ thoughts occupied with all the useful things they needed to do tomorrow.

He shook his head. “Nah. Want you out getting me those goddamn answers. Bring Rojas and Novak up to speed; get them to check alibis and corroborate witness statements.”

“That’s one of the problems, sir,” Contreras said. “We don’t have any witnesses.”

“Goddamnit.” He left them with a stern warning not to, in his words, “get sidetracked” with Osborn. “He’s batshit crazy and he’ll try to get inside your head. Don’t let him.” The last was said with an emphatic glance Melissa’s direction that she resented, more than a little.

Rojas knocked on the door a few minutes later, and they spent a half-hour walking through the case with him and his partner, Novak. The eagerness of their questions, the glint in their eyes said they too had been affected by that dreaded word. The idea of aserialhad infected them.

When Melissa yawned so widely her jaw cracked, Contreras checked his watch and muttered, “Shit.”

“What time is it?” she asked, dreading the answer. Her feet and face had gone numb.

“Ten ‘til eleven.” He flipped the file he was reading shut and stood. “I’m calling it.”

For once, she didn’t argue.

He checked his phone as they tidied up, and then whistled.

“What?”