two sips of wine, a few hors d’oeuvres, he punched them in the face, slammed them to the floor. He was strong and quick, and once he got started, he was ruthless. Somewhere during the act itself, he reached back for his weapon and plunged it into their throats, stayed mounted until he’d ejaculated, then climbed off their cooling bodies. The ME had come up with that opinion, comparing the temperature of sperm with the temp of the body. Nothing high-tech about it.
Then a few minutes postmortem, most likely after he’d dressed and recovered, the killer arranged his victims into the pose he’d selected, and a minute or two later, he began to dribble that trail of blood away from the scene.
Though the sequence was identical every time, the women were all different. No regularity to body types or hair color or socioeconomic background. Either the killer wasn’t that particular or his fantasizing capabilities were so powerful that he could incorporate a lot of different types into his horror show. The only similarity among the women was their ages. They were all in their late twenties.
Based on the very limited evidence he was leaving behind, Alex doubted he’d be caught from police work alone. Probably their best hope was that the killings would someday stop gratifying the guy and his passions would grow so pressurized inside the locked chambers of his heart that the walls would rupture and he’d blow wide open and do something out of character, wild, stupid, clumsy. Or better yet, there was the outside chance he would meet a woman who outmatched him, someone who could block that first punch and answer it with a high-caliber counter-punch – someone with a quick draw and a fast trigger, who’d make him spill his blood in earnest.
Alex only hoped it happened on her shift, so she could take a roll or two of the asshole’s corpse.
The apartment was crowded with cops by the time she was leaving. Media trucks in the parking lot, halogen lights blazing, helicopters fanning the moonlight. Alexandra Rafferty got in her van and moved on to a quiet neighborhood in the Grove, a home invasion with a husband and a wife pistol-whipped but alive. After that, she did a convenience-store robbery on Biscayne Boulevard, the clerk shot twice in the face for sixty-three dollars and two six-packs of Colt 45. As the sun was coming up, she did a domestic-abuse case in Little Havana. A Latin man in his sixties who’d stabbed his teenage boyfriend twenty-five times in the genitals. The old man had to be sedated before he would let go of the mutilated body of his lover.
At the end of their shift, Dan Romano tagged along behind Alex down the overbright corridor to the photo lab. They passed a couple of janitors who were mopping the glaring tile while they exchanged quick bursts of island patois.
‘That thing in the apartment.’ Dan stepped around the mop bucket. ‘My saying it was okay to steal that photograph off the wall? Hey, I’m sorry, Alex. I don’t know what I was thinking about. I was out of line.’
‘Yeah, you were, Dan. Way out.’
‘You can forget it happened, can’t you?’
‘I forgot it the second it occurred.’
They rounded the last corner and pushed through the swinging doors. The raw chemical smell poured out of the developing room. Early shift was on already, which meant Junior Shanrahan stood behind the counter, smiling at her. In his early twenties, Junior was an inch or two over six feet, with shoulders so broad, he seemed taller. He was hulking behind the counter, wearing his usual bright blue granny spectacles and a white hair net and smock.
Whenever she showed up, his smile brightened and his eyes seemed to track her every move. Nervous and deferential, like the kid had a crush on her. Junior high stuff. She expected him to pass her a folded-up love note any day now. Invite her to the prom.
‘This whole retirement thing’s got me fucked up, Alex, facing the void. My whole ethical orientation has gone to shit.’
‘Understandable, Dan. Perfectly understandable.’
Alexandra started unloading her grocery sack of exposed film onto the counter. Each roll in its own envelope, with case information inside.
‘Good morning, Ms Rafferty,’ Junior said. ‘How’s the Ansel Adams of corpses doing this fine day?’
‘Ansel Adams?’ Dan was staring at Junior Shanrahan, taking in the hair net, the blue glasses. ‘Who the hell’s that?’
‘Famous photographer,’ Alex said. ‘It’s a compliment.’
‘More like a joke,’ said Junior.
‘Christ, I’m getting too old for this. Everybody’s doing stand-up, and I’m not getting the gags anymore.’
Junior took her rolls of film one by one and logged them on his clipboard, then dropped them into the empty slot. A chute carried them back to the processing lab, where the minideveloper was already churning out new prints. Same kind of machine you’d find in Eckerd Drugs.
‘Get anything good last night?’ Junior was peering at her through his blue lenses. At his hairline, near the edge of the netting, a small vein pulsed.
‘Bloody Rapist again,’ said Alex.
‘Christ, I hate that guy. Turns my stomach looking at those naked girls.’
‘Oh, come on, Junior. All the bodies you see. All the gore.’
‘You mean it doesn’t bother you? The slit throats? Their bodies twisted up like that? Man, that shit gives me nightmares.’
‘Nothing wrong with nightmares,’ Dan said. ‘Means you still got a conscience. Day you stop having bad dreams, that’s when you know your soul’s shriveled up. You’re on your way to being a psychopath.’
Junior dropped another envelope down the chute and looked at Dan with a vague smile. Alex watched him handle the envelopes of film delicately in his large hands. Fingernails nicely trimmed. A well-maintained kid.
‘We’d like to get these back by tonight, Junior. Think you can jump them over the ones in line already?’
‘Anything for you, Ms Rafferty.’
She couldn’t see his eyes behind those glossy blue hexagonals, but she could feel him watching her. A little trick some men performed, a tactile stare.
‘So what’s our latest thinking on the bodies? Got any idea yet why he repositions them like that?’
‘Classified,’ Dan said.
‘Which means,’ said Alex, ‘if you come up with any good explanations, Junior, you let us know, okay?’
She turned to go.
‘Sure thing, Ms Rafferty. And hey, maybe if I solve the case, I can get promoted out of this stinking lab. I’ve inhaled so much chemical soup, I’m starting to glow.’
She turned back around to his eager smile.
‘You solve this case, Junior, we’ll make sure you get a corner office and preferred parking. Hell, we’ll even spring for a week at the Delano Hotel.’
