Once Gone. Blake Pierce
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“Obsessive about details,” she commented.
“Even so, I think we’re closing in on him,” Flores added.
He used an electronic pointer to indicate locations, drawing lines between them.
“Now that we know about this earlier killing, we’ve got the order and a better idea of his territory,” Flores said. “We’ve got number one, Margaret Geraty, at Belding to the north here, number two, Eileen Rogers, over to the west at Mosby Park, and number three, Reba Frye, near Daggett, farther south.”
As Riley looked, she saw that the three locations formed a triangle on the map.
“We’re looking at an area of about a thousand square miles,” Flores said. “But that’s not as bad as it sounds. We’re talking mostly rural areas with a few small towns. In the north you get into some big estates like the Senator’s. Lots of open country.”
Riley saw a look of professional satisfaction on Flores’s face. He obviously loved his work.
“What I’m going to do is bring up all the registered sex offenders who live in this area,” Flores said. He typed in a command, and the triangle was dotted with about two dozen little red tags.
“Now let’s eliminate the pederasts,” he said. “We can be sure that our killer’s not one of them.”
Flores typed another command, and about half of the dots disappeared.
“Now let’s narrow it down to just the hardcore cases – guys who’ve been in prison for rape or murder or both.”
“No,” Riley said abruptly. “That’s wrong.”
All three men stared at her with surprise.
“We’re not looking for a violent criminal,” she said.
Flores grunted.
“Like hell we’re not!” he protested.
A silence fell. Riley felt an insight forming, but it hadn’t quite taken shape in her mind. She stared at the doll, which was still sitting grotesquely on the table, looking as out of place as ever.
If only you could talk, she thought.
Then she slowly began to state her thoughts.
“I mean, not obviously violent. Margaret Geraty wasn’t raped. We already knew that Rogers and Frye weren’t either.”
“They were all tortured and killed,” Flores grumbled.
A tension filled the room, as Brent Meredith looked worried, while Bill was staring fixedly at one of the monitors.
Riley pointed to close-up pictures of Margaret Geraty’s hideously mutilated corpse.
“His first killing was his most violent,” she said. “These wounds are deep and ugly – worse even than his next two victims. I’ll bet your technicians have already determined that he inflicted these wounds really rapidly, one right after another.”
Flores nodded with admiration.
“You’re right.”
Meredith looked at Riley with curiosity.
“What does that tell you?” Meredith asked.
Riley took a deep breath. She found herself slipping into the killer’s mind again.
“I’m pretty sure of something,” she said. “He’s never had sex with another human being in his life. He’s probably never even been on a date. He’s homely and unattractive. Women have always rejected him.”
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