Sachs asked, “Any former boyfriends, stalkers?”
“According to the boyfriend and her sister, over the last couple years she went out with one guy from work, one guy from her health club, one guy from church. Real casual. The sister said they all ended okay and there were no hard feelings. Anyway the last one she broke up with was about six months ago just before she met the current guy.”
The detective continued, “No organized crime connection, not surprising, and she wasn’t a whistleblower or witness. I can’t find a motive at all.”
Rhyme didn’t much care for motive. His theory was that why people killed was largely irrelevant. A paranoid schizophrenic could kill someone because he believed that person was part of the advance guard from a planet in Alpha Centauri bent on capturing the world. What got him convicted was his prints on the knife, not his mad thinking.
“Well, that tells us something, right?” Rhyme asked, grimacing. “If there’s no boyfriend-done-it, rapist-done-it, mugger-done-it scenario, I’m thinking it’s a psycho.” He happened to be looking at the young crime scene officer. “Oh, I know they don’t use that word anymore. But it’s a lot more felicitous than ‘individual displaying antisocial personality disorder traits.’ ”
Marko nodded, obviously having no idea what to think about that pronouncement.
It was Sellitto who explained, “What Linc’s saying is that he could be a serial doer. Meaning he’s going to strike again.”
“You think so, sir?” the young man asked.
“If that’s the case it also means he’s picking victims at random. And somewhere in that morass—” a nod toward the mountains of evidence “—is the answer to who the next one’s going to be.”
3
Mel Cooper was wrong.
It took nearly seven more hours to finish just categorizing the evidence. At 3:15 in the morning they decided to knock off for the night.
Sachs stayed with Rhyme, as she did three or four nights a week, and Cooper slept in the guest room. Sellitto returned to his house, where his partner, Rachel, whom he described as his “Better Other,” was waiting for him. Marko headed back to his home, wherever that might be.
By nine the next morning the team, minus the young CS officer, was back.
As in every case they worked, Rhyme asked for a whiteboard chart listing the evidence. Sachs did the honors. She moved stiffly to the board. Rhyme noted the hitch in her leg; she suffered from arthritis and the extended search in a damp, subterranean garage had taken its toll. Once or twice, reaching to the top to start a new entry, she winced.
Finally she finished—all three boards in Rhyme’s parlor were required. And that was just to list what the teams had found. There was no analysis at all, much less insightful deductions that could be made about sources or inferences as to prospective victims.
Everyone in the room fell silent and stared.
UNSUB TWENTY-SIX HOMICIDE
Location: 832 E. 26th Street