Flu

Chapter 60

Rick's chin is beginning to make a dent in the palm of his hand as he leans on Kate's desk, waiting for the phone to ring. "Sometimes, I think Osnitz holds on to results just to piss me off."

"Mostly, he'd be pissing me off," Kate points out. "But it shouldn't be much longer." Her computer beeps. "That might be the report coming in. Uh-huh. Wow!"

Rick pops upright. "Wow, what?"

"The leathers are a match to the traces found in the post mortems, and there are two different killers, Babe. Heitner's leather still had detectable amounts of deer brain in it. The analysis is consistent with the autopsy Lanie's colleague, Dr. Faulkner, performed. The leather from his old pal Holland Frees has a signature like the residue Brunner found in Bridget McCready's autopsy. Frees may have been killing for 15 years, but Heitner's been in the game for a while too, and we have no idea how far their killing fields extend."

"Are these results enough to bring them in?" Rick asks.

"To question, but not to make anything stick. We don't have any DNA or fingerprints. A fresh-out lawyer could make the argument that anyone could similarly tan leather, and a jury might buy it. And Frees and Heitner being friends doesn't prove anything except they have similar interests, and legal ones at that."

"But you think they killed and raped those women, don't you?" Rick questions.

"Hell, yes! Now that we've linked Bridget to Frees, we need to find out if they had any contact before the murder. And we need to know more about the other victim too, but she was out of state and way out of my jurisdiction. Maybe Faulkner can help us out. I'll ask Lanie if she can hook us up."

"What the hell, Kate!" Lanie's head bobs back and forth on her neck. "You want to hook up with Lorne Faulkner?"

Rick clamps his jaw on a guffaw struggling to escape. "My esteemed wife means we want to talk to him. We think we know who killed the victim in the report he sent you."

"But we need any more information he can get for us," Kate continues. "Can you put us in touch?"

Lanie smugly draws herself up to her full five foot four. "I can do better than that. I heard from Lorne this morning. He's in town for a conference. I was going to catch a seminar there myself. Lorne and I are going to meet for dinner at seven, but the sessions end at five. You should have plenty of time to get with him then. The meetings are at the Forster Hotel. I'll give you Lorne's cell number, but text, don't call. The plenary session is on now, and I'm familiar with the speaker. He has the staff remove attendees who forget to turn off their phones."

Rick arches a brow. "I don't suppose he's considered investing in a movie theater. It would rapidly become my favorite place to take in a film."

Lanie's dark eyes light with amusement. "Don't be too sure, Writer Boy. The tight-ass has a thing about the damage food additives wreak in the body, as observed in comparing stomach contents and manner of death. He'd either abolish the concession stand or post warnings about all the chemicals in the snacks. He has a real hate on for hot dogs."

Kate giggles behind her hand. "There go your beloved Nathan's, Babe."

"I've never noticed you having any qualms about getting your mouth around one, either," Rick retorts. "Maybe the theater wasn't such a good idea, but I wouldn't mind having that speaker shoo some of the attendees out of my book readings. Especially Patterson fans," Rick adds under his breath.

"We have a few hours before we can interview Lorne Faulkner," Rick observes, checking his watch as he and Kate leave the morgue. With Frees as our suspect in Bridget's murder, shouldn't we go talk to Maeve McCready? If Frees had had any contact with Bridget before wrapping leather around her neck, her mother might know about it."

"She might," Kate agrees, "but she wouldn't be the only one to ask. Any of Bridget's friends could remember him. And anyone who lived in our building at the time of the murder might have seen him."

"Getting to canvass my own building, that's new. But if we go knocking on doors, you'd best take the lead. I've always been enthusiastic about encouraging my neighbors to purchase whatever Alexis was selling as a fundraiser for one cause or another. I think the only time we were always welcome was when we were selling Girl Scout cookies. And I've never been able to resist Thin Mints myself."

"Me either," Kate confesses. "Let's go talk to Maeve first, and then we'll see where we go from there."

Mrs. McCready studies the picture of Frees that Kate displays on her phone. "He doesn't look familiar, but I've never been good with faces. You said he worked with leather."

"That's right," Kate confirms.

"Bridget had a new purse, not really a purse, one of those bags you stuff with papers or files and put over your shoulder."

"A messenger bag?" Rick asks.

"Yes, that's what she called it. She told me that a guy made them by hand, and a couple of her friends bought them from him. She loved the other girls' bags and bought one herself."

"Do you remember which of her friends bought the bags?"

Maeve presses her lips together, shaking her head. "Not after 15 years. But I have Bridget's yearbook. Her friends all signed it. They'd be in there. Would that help?"

Kate reaches for Maeve's trembling hand. "It would help a lot."

In the bullpen, Rick pages through the glossy leaves of the high school tome, alert for signatures. "Bridget had a lot of friends. I wonder which one of these girls would carry a handmade messenger bag."

Kate sticks out her hand. "Give it to me."

Rick passes her the slim volume. "What are you looking for?"

"Girls who might go their own way a little bit. If you look at what they're wearing in the group shots like the clubs and stuff, grunge was pretty much out that year. They were doing either the casual big shirts and leggings or the sexy schoolgirl look, miniskirts, and tiny backpacks."

"I'm all for short skirts," Rick comments, "as long as they're not on my daughter."

"Sorry, Babe, I'm not looking for the girls who'd be wearing them or fixing their hair in the sexy-cutesy styles." She taps her short fingernail on a page. "I want them more like this girl. The caption says her name is Marnie Phillips." Kate turns to the single pictures. "Great! She signed this to Bridget. I need to check out a few of the others."

Marking her place with her finger, Kate rapidly flips back and forth. "I make four of the girls who wrote more than a word or two to Bridget as free-spirited enough to want a Frees original. If we're lucky, a couple of them may still live in or around the city."

Rick claps his hands. "Kate Beckett on the hunt. I love it!"

"Save the applause, Babe, until we get someone who saw Holland Frees with Bridget. How much is anyone going to remember after all that time?"

"If it's about a friend, a lot," Rick asserts.

Kate jots down the names of their potential witnesses. "We'll see."