Waterson tapped his iPad a few more times, then shut it down. “That’s a list of where I was and who I was with. Anything else?”

Conklin said, “And why don’t you have any contact with your father?”

“He’s a homophobe,” said Waterson. “He disapproves of my lifestyle. That’s where the cruelty comes in. Are we done?”

We thanked the guy for his cooperation and left his house.

“Okay,” said Conklin. “So, theorizing here, Todd Waterson is what? A gay guy who hates his father, so he decides to kill women. He becomes a serial killer and corpse mutilator who sneaks into his father’s backyard and buries the heads of his victims with some of their doodads. Later, he digs them up and decorates them with numbers and fluffy flowers.”

It was my turn to look at him as if he had a fish on his head.

He said, “Makes no sense to me either.”

I gave him the car keys and we drove back to the Hall in silence.

Chapter 68

Chapter 68

I’D LIKE TO say that the day improved, but that would be a lie. I had nothing in my tank but vapors and I tried to put in a day’s work on that.

Joe called a number of times, but I let the calls go to voicemail and I didn’t call him back.

Conklin and I cleared Todd Waterson by noon and I called Claire three times in six hours asking if she had facial-reconstruction results on the heads from the Ellsworth compound.

I even paid her a personal visit, talking to her over the shot-up dead body of a gangbanger.

“Lindsay, it takes time. Dr. Perlmutter is giving us every minute she has, but she gets called in on other jobs. And the DNA cannot be rushed.”

“I can’t get any traction on the case.”

“It’s been five days. You’re acting like it’s been five months.”

I got coffee out of the vending machine in the breezeway, climbed the back stairs, and settled in for the duration.

Conklin and I worked the tip line until nine that night. Sad to say, nothing of consequence washed up, just useless flotsam from people who had nothing better to do than screw with the police or indulge their paranoid delusions.

I shared a pizza with Conklin, went back to work, finally quit at ten. Half an hour later, I opened my door to a dark apartment and a note from Karen saying she had walked and fed Martha.

I listened to Joe’s voicemails. I took a long shower. I drank warm milk. I put on some soft music. I didn’t sleep that night.

I mean, I really didn’t sleep. I lay in the big bed, stayed on my side of it, and listened to Martha’s gentle snoring from her puffy bed on the floor.

At about two, I turned on the TV.