Author's note: Just for Morbid's sake, this chapter is all Josh. Would the rest of you catch her if she swoons?
Josh Graham sat in his apartment, trying to think. Between the twin problems of the Six Fingered Killer and Clarice's disappearance, it was hard to concentrate. Every time he tried to focus his attention on one, the other popped into mind. Were the two related? Josh thought that they were. Unfortunately, they had no real evidence in Clarice's disappearance at all.
They were working on it. The only thing they did have was a phone number. Checking the FBI's phone records had popped up a number that had called Clarice's office shortly before her disappearance. Tracing it back had led to a pay phone at Union Station. It wasn't much to go on. A forensics team had gone over the phone and found nothing. No prints. No hair. Nothing to go on.
There had been no ransom demands. Josh thought privately it was likely that Clarice's kidnapper was either the Six Fingered Killer or Dr. Lecter. Or maybe the two were one and the same. Images of the Six Fingered Killer's crime scenes flitted through his head as he tried to concentrate on Clarice. Why would the Six Fingered Killer want Clarice? Was it because of that stupid Tattler article? It seemed pretty obvious that the Six Fingered Killer read the Tattler; that was the reason Winfield had been targeted.
Images of Clarice being forced to drink Drano or having a sword rammed through her chest appeared in his mind. Josh exhaled. He had to think straight and not be distracted. Maybe some music would help.
Josh Graham was, to all views, a straitlaced and conservative young man. He wore white shirts and wing tips to the office. But his tastes in music were rather different. He selected an Eminem CD and put it in his CD player. He rather liked Eminem; the man could say things that Josh couldn't bring himself to say.
It also helped him to banish the thoughts of torture and mayhem from his mind. Instead he simply sang along, agreeing that Eminem was the real Slim Shady and any other Slim Shady was just imitating. Wouldn't the real Slim Shady please stand up?
"Fuck it," Eminem pronounced at the end. "Let's all stand up." Josh complied with his dictates. Then his eyes widened. Standing in front of him was an older man, slim and easy in a flannel shirt and jeans.
"Dad!" he said, and blushed a bit.
Will Graham eyed his son dubiously for a moment. "Nice music you're listening to," he said. His hair was gray and his eyes a bit bloodshot. His skin was tanned and leathery from years spent in the sun. He extended his hand to his son. "Your door was open," he explained. "You ought to lock that."
Josh nodded, his eyes wide. "Uh…yeah, I guess I should. What're you doing here?"
Will shrugged. "Thought I'd come up and see you," he said. "Work's been slow. I left the shop with my partner; he can handle the repairs we've got going."
Josh turned off the Eminem CD before his father heard Eminem espousing the virtues of drinking and using drugs. "It's…it's good to see you," he said. Will nodded.
"I heard about Agent Starling," he said. "And your killer. Tough case. What do you think?"
My killer, Josh thought. Will Graham had caught three killers on his own. Now he owned a boat-motor sales and repair shop down in Marathon. The catching of killers was now something he left to his son. The Six Fingered Killer was now Josh's killer, as if capturing him (or her, Josh reminded himself, I think this one is a her) was a trophy on the wall. Josh Graham, big-game hunter.
"As far as Clarice's disappearance goes, we're looking into it," Josh said. "Not much evidence to go on yet. Somebody called her from a pay phone. No fingerprints or any other evidence."
Will nodded. "What does that tell you?" he asked.
Josh shrugged. "Not much," he said. "It tells me the kidnapper wore gloves and wiped off the phone before they hung up. That doesn't mean squat, though. It's winter. Everybody is wearing gloves. And wiping down the phone would've taken seconds. You can get phone wipes from Staples, for God's sake."
Will's eyes gleamed. "What else does that tell you, though?"
Josh pondered. He should know this. If the Six Fingered Killer had wiped down the phone, that meant…
"That the Six Fingered Killer knows something about forensic evidence techniques," he began uncertainly. "Lots of people know about fingerprints, but not everyone thinks that a hair could get caught in the phone receiver. But we already knew that. No physical evidence of the UNSUB at any of the scenes. No prints, no hair, no skin flakes. She's good."
Will raised an eyebrow. For a moment, he found himself feeling both nervous and content. Here he was, talking shop with his son. But he was afraid of what monsters Josh might face. He knew them all too well. But his son's choice of words interested him.
"She?"
"Clarice thought—Clarice thinks—that the killer may be female," Josh explained. "I think she's on to something."
"That would be new."
"New as far as violent killings, yes," Josh said. "But there are plenty of women who have committed serial offenses before." He ran down the reasons why he and Clarice believed the killer to be female.
"What else can you tell me about the UNSUB?" Will asked.
Josh smiled nervously. "I'll show you the file," he said, and reached for a manila folder on the table. Will chuckled and shook his head.
"No," he said. "I'm all done with that. I'm a boat motor mechanic now and that's what I like doing. I want to know what you think."
Josh took a few moments to think. He felt slightly nervous with his dad's cool blue eyes on him. Crazily he was reminded of being in first grade at a play.
"Okay," he began. "I think the killer's between twenty and thirty. Young enough to get a job at a strip club, which is where the Baker scene took place. I think she's about five foot five or five-six. A lot stronger than you'd expect a woman to be. She managed to control two victims at the same time. Restrained or not, that means she was pretty confident. She drives a van or a truck or something. I'm thinking a van. I also don't think that's her primary vehicle, because the kind of van she needs is gonna be one without windows. Not a minivan. Not the sort of vehicle you expect to see a woman driving. She's bright and she's confident; she's not going to raise any eyebrows by motoring around in a cargo van. But that's just a feeling I have."
Will nodded. "Good," he said.
Josh's eyes were filmed with thought as he continued. "If the killer makes a mistake, it'll be because of cockiness. We know the killer has six fingers on her left hand. It's her signature. I think she's got a house, too. Somewhere private. She chopped off Winfield's hand; it's hard to do that in an apartment without the neighbors hearing. She reads the Tattler. She's got money – she can maintain and operate a car, probably two. Some knowledge of chemistry, because she built a time-delay fuse to burn Winfield with."
For some reason that made Will flinch.
"I'd bet she has a juvenile record but I don't think there's an adult record. This girl's smart, dad. She learned from her mistake before. I think there's a juvenile record for a violent offense, but that doesn't mean much because it's probably sealed. She's got money. I think she's got a white-collar job. Something that gives her time to herself, and enough time and money to be able to plan out and commit her crimes."
Will nodded. A slight, pained smile crossed his face. Josh was good, he thought. He just needed experience. Though, given the choice, he would have rather Josh worked with him in the boat-motor repair shop.
A knock at the door made both men turn. Josh opened the door to see Section Chief Jack Crawford standing there calmly, flanked by two agents. Crawford's eyes scanned him, then his father.
"Will!" Crawford smiled and stuck his hand out smoothly. "Good to see you. Didn't expect to see you. Though an extra pair of eyes is always good."
Will accepted the handshake with some frostiness. "An…extra pair of eyes?" he questioned.
"Yep. Josh, I need you to come down to Rock Creek Park. We've got something."
Josh stepped forward obediently. "Okay," he said. "Is it related to Agent Starling's disappearance, or the Six Fingered Killer?"
Crawford's face tightened up a bit. "Both," he said. "I'll brief you in the car. Will, why don't you come on down?"
Will sighed. "I'm not on duty anymore," he protested.
"Yeah, and look, you know I wouldn't force you to do anything," Crawford smiled. "Just have a look and tell me what you think."
Will shuddered and let out a long sigh. He eyed Crawford with the pained look of a man asked to take up a massive burden he has already shouldered for far too long. But in the end, he nodded.
"Come on, guys," Crawford said. A car was waiting downstairs for them, lights already going. They got in and drove off through DC traffic. It wasn't that far to the park. Normally, the park was closed to vehicular traffic, but a uniformed cop manning a barrier waved the big Crown Victoria through.
"So what did you find?" Josh asked from the back seat.
Crawford turned around and stared at Josh thoughtfully through the screen. "A body," he said thoughtfully.
A pang shot through Josh's stomach. He put his hands on the screen as if pleading. "Is it..is it Clarice?" he asked.
Crawford pondered. "We don't know," he said. "We'll run the fingerprints once we get the corpse to the pathologist. We want you to…to see the body as it is before we take it down."
The driver pulled over at a heavily wooded section of the park. Both Grahams glanced curiously at Crawford. Crawford shrugged.
"We have to walk from here," he explained.
They hiked over the wooded area for perhaps a hundred feet. Josh didn't see anything. Trees filled the area and covered the sky in a leafy canopy. Then they walked around a large oak tree, and Josh gasped.
Stuck into the ground was a large wooden cross. Tied to the cross was the corpse of a woman. Her arms were both tied to the arms of the cross and nailed with a stout nail through the wrists. She was dressed in a blue pants suit and a white shell – the clothing Clarice had been wearing when she went missing. Her hair was dark reddish brown and hung in her face. She was quite, quite dead.
She had no face. Someone had gone over it with a knife, mutilating it. Muscle hung loose from where it had been severed from the bone. One eye was grotesquely visible. The eyelid and skin surrounding it had been carefully removed. It stared obscenely out at the officers surrounding it.
Josh closed his eyes and let his breath out of his nostrils in a measured gasp. The facial mutilations were bad, but he also saw immediately what they had been put there for. Either the woman wasn't Clarice, or the killer had been trying to camouflage the bullet wound to the forehead. But it was there, plain as day. The woman had been shot in the head and killed that way. Josh suspected the mutilations were post-mortem. For the sake of the woman on the cross, he hoped they were.
Tucked into the front jacket pocket was an FBI ID card. Josh pulled on a pair of latex gloves from a nearby evidence technician setting up his stand. He took the leather case by a corner and glanced at it. It proclaimed the body to be Agent Clarice Starling of the FBI.
Josh swallowed nervously. The tail of the blouse was pulled out, and the woman's navel was open. There was a fingerprint just below the woman's navel in blood. Josh glanced at that. No other prints anywhere else.
"Do we know if this is Clarice yet?" Josh asked.
Crawford shook his head. "We'll run the prints as soon as we get her down and off to the pathologist's," he said shortly.
"Check the bullet wound to the forehead, too," Josh mused. "Um, I mean, we should, sir."
Crawford let out a short chuckle. "Don't stand on rank, Graham," he said calmly. "I never do. Investigate the case, that's what I want you to do."
Josh thought he ought to feel sad that a fellow FBI agent was dead. He found himself more icily calm than he thought. Investigate the case, that's what he had to do. He could grieve for Clarice later. For now he had to do his job. He didn't know where the icy control came from. He didn't want to think about it, either.
He thought the fingerprint was an immediate red herring. No other prints anywhere else, and the killer was smarter than that. There might be a print on the shoes, maybe, or possibly something off the face where the killer had attempted to create a face-ectomy, but the print on the stomach was too obvious.
Josh's stomach roiled in a big lazy flip-flop as he reached for the tail of the blouse. He felt vaguely dirty, exposing the corpse like this. But it had to be done.
Two inches above the stomach was a red mark. Josh inhaled sharply and unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of the blouse to display the mark. What he saw made him let out a sharp gasp.
On the stomach of the corpse, smeared but still clear, was a bloody, six-fingered palm print.
Josh closed his eyes. The icy control he'd managed to conjure up vanished suddenly. He turned and strode across the scene with his eyes closed. The boundary of the police's turf was marked with yellow crime-scene tape. Josh stood just beyond the boundary and took a few deep breaths to clear his head. Crawford stayed behind him, watching him calmly.
Footsteps on the soft loamy earth behind him made him turn. His father stood there, looking somewhat somber. He observed his progeny calmly.
"You OK, Josh?"
Josh nodded. "It's not that," he said. "I've seen gory crime scenes before. It's something else."
Will Graham reached into his chest pocket and withdrew a pack of Camels. Calmly, he lit one and then offered the pack to Josh. "Cigarette?"
Josh's eyes widened in surprise. "Dad!"
"What? You're an adult now. Take one, it'll clear your head."
Josh took the cigarette and accepted a light from his father. The smoke was harsh and hurt his lungs. He did not cough. Instead, he simply held the smoke in for a moment or two, letting the nicotine bubble its way into his bloodstream.
"You've got more experience with smoking than I'd like you to have," Will observed.
Josh smiled tightly at his father and took another drag on the cigarette.
"If it wasn't the gore that bothered you," Will asked calmly, "then what was it?"
Josh took in a deep breath of air, not smoke. His lips pulled tight over his teeth as he thought.
"I knew," he said.
Will nodded. "Knew what?"
Josh took another drag on the cigarette and exhaled smoke into the forest air. "I saw that fingerprint," he began. "And I just knew. This killer's too smart to leave a fingerprint. That was a total red herring. The killer put it there so I would find it. I saw it and I knew that if I opened up the blouse I'd find the handprint. I saw it…and it was like a message. I knew, Dad. I knew what it was the minute I saw it."
Will patted his son's shoulder. "It's not easy, is it? You get inside the killer's head. But that's what'll help you catch him. Think the way the monster thinks and you'll be able to hunt him. But…it can be hard." He jerked his head back in Crawford's direction. "Crawford won't always allow for it. He wants you to produce for him, twenty-four-seven. He doesn't exactly realize what it's like to be able to get in the head of an UNSUB and wonder if you're going to be able to get out. You'll learn, though."
A crowd of gawkers had assembled, and the uniforms were busy keeping them away from the atrocity among the trees. Both Grahams stared out at the gathering crowd. Everyone had to come and flock to the horror, Josh thought. Come and see how monstrous someone can be.
His eye settled on a young woman about his age. She stood off to the side, alone. Pretty cute, he thought. She wore a dress, knee-high boots, and tights, all black. Her hair was as black as her clothing, setting off her pale skin. Josh was reminded of the goth-chick crowd in high school. Idly he wondered if she wanted to come and check out the death scene. Maybe it was worth goth points or something, he thought, and felt a lot older than he actually was. For just a moment, her eyes touched his. She looked away and suddenly turned and strode away as if embarrassed. He could hear the faint clop clop of her boot heels receding along the roadway. He noticed idly that she kept her left hand stuffed in her purse, as if she was looking for cigarettes or gum and had forgotten her hand was in there.
The rest of the gawkers milled around, hoping to catch a glance of the corpse. A medical examiner's van pulled up. Josh saw someone approach the scene with a chainsaw in hand. Of course; they'd have to cut the cross off. Leaving her on the cross was the smart way to do it. Once they'd had a chance to examine the corpse.
All the evil, Josh thought. We photograph it and measure it and weigh it and scan it,, but we can't stop it. The best we can do is track it and contain it.
Then they were carrying the corpse, stuffed into a big body bag, across to the van. Crawford was walking back towards them. He hailed them with a wave.
"Let's head over to the pathologist," he said. "Josh, I know you want to know when we ID her. Come on with me. It'll be better for you, I think."
Will gave him a slightly distanced look, but didn't say anything. They headed back to the car and piled in. Then they went off to see if Josh Graham's partner was dead.