~ CHAPTER X: ELIZABETH PFEIFFER ~

Luckily for Will (especially since the last thing he needed right now was to break down and snap at Jack), the third and final crime scene was much clearer than the last. But before they visited it, Hannibal insisted that they get something to eat. Wary of a repeat of the night before, Will agreed, but only if he got to choose the restaurant. Hannibal acquiesced.

Will drove them to a small, Creole-style hole in the wall in the Lower Ninth Ward that had glowing reviews online. If Hannibal had any objections, he kept them to himself, even though this time, he was the one who looked out of place in his three-piece suit. A petty part of Will derived amusement from it. Will ordered seafood gumbo, while Hannibal hesitantly selected a sweet and sour shrimp platter.

The service was quick and the food delicious: rich, well-seasoned, spicy enough to leave the mouth burning a little, and cheap to boot. It boosted Will's mood, at least temporarily, and distracted him from how ill he'd been feeling. He was content enough that he was halfway through his meal before he realized that Hannibal was pausing between every bite to drink water and had refilled his glass once already.

His lips twitched with the beginning of a smirk. "Having a little trouble?"

Hannibal looked like a cat who had been caught in a clumsy act instead of landing on its feet. "I am not accustomed to eating spicy food," he said stiffly.

"Is it that bad?" Will reached over and snagged a shrimp from Hannibal's plate before he could protest. It was a mouthwatering combination of sweet and sour with a tiny bit of kick, but it wasn't even close to being genuinely spicy. A grin spread across his face so wide that his muscles threatened to ache. "I hate to break it to you, but that's not spicy."

Hannibal looked mildly piqued. Without thinking, Will fumbled for his spoon and scooped up a small representative spoonful of his gumbo.

"Here, try this. This is spicy."

He held the spoonful out. It wasn't until Hannibal leaned forward slightly, dark eyes locked with his, and put his lips carefully around the spoon that it hit Will how his action could be taken. He swallowed and tried not to stare. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the shape and fullness of Hannibal's lips, as well as the heat pooling in his stomach that he swore had not been there a moment ago.

Hannibal pulled away, swallowed, and licked his lips. Then the moment was broken when he abruptly coughed and reached for his water.

"That is much spicier, yes." He sounded strained, gulping down the rest of his glass and reaching for the water pitcher to refill it.

Will felt his smile return, albeit with a touch of awkwardness. "Should I ask if they have any milk?" he said dryly.

Hannibal waved it away, although he looked slightly pained. "No, no, there's no need."

Will nodded and set his spoon back in his gumbo. The men finished the rest of their meal in silence.

After their late lunch, they drove to the third and final crime scene. It was located in Gretna, separated from uptown New Orleans by the Mississippi. With half the land area but about the same population as Chalmette, Gretna was more diverse and slightly more urban than its neighbor, as well as noticeably poorer. Will had a feeling that the previous victim would turn her nose up at this city, though he couldn't yet pinpoint why.

They took Route 90 into downtown Gretna, where the victim's townhouse was. Will was struck again by how much Hurricane Katrina had devastated the area. What was once a thriving part of the New Orleans metropolis now sported rundown buildings and the occasional empty grass or mud lot.

Soon enough, they pulled off onto a side street and Will parked. The victim's townhouse was part of a small complex of townhouses. Isolated from any other residences, the complex was flanked by crumbling businesses and a cemetery. The townhouses looked as if they had once been sky blue, but the paint was now weathered and peeling, faded into a dull gray. Most of the windows were shuttered or blocked by curtains or blankets. Sagging stoops led to the first floor apartments, while thin metal staircases led to the second floors. Only a few cars were parked out front. A red FOR RENT sign leaned haphazardly in one of the yards. As with the first victim's residence, no one wanted to buy or rent a place associated with the brutal murder of its former inhabitant.

Will stopped on the sidewalk and scanned the final case file again. The victim was a 33-year-old Caucasian female, Elizabeth Pfeiffer, found in her apartment in late October. Her death was the most creative one so far: instead of strangulation or death by ax, she was drowned in her bathtub and then partially dissolved in sodium hydroxide. Her body was found three days later — the smell was what alerted the downstairs neighbors that something was amiss.

Pfeiffer's death was the most high profile of the three victims. Kennedy's death made a splash mostly because of the unspoken relief of neighbors who hadn't wanted a registered sex offender living anywhere near their children. Harrington's death was a big deal in Chalmette due to the small, tight-knit nature of the community and the influential role she'd played, but it didn't have far-reaching implications. But Elizabeth Pfeiffer?

Her death was big because she was the prime suspect in the murder of her boyfriend.

It was likely the high profile nature of the case that caught the serious attention of the NOPD and ended in connecting the deaths through DNA left at the crime scenes. Will wondered idly how many more people the serial killer could've killed before attracting the FBI's attention if he'd gone for a less interesting victim.

He closed the case file and headed up the walk to the victim's apartment, which was in the townhouse closest to the cemetery. Upon closer inspection, the staircase leading up to the second floor was rusty and creaked when stepped on, as if structurally unsound. Hannibal wisely waited until Will had reached the second floor landing before following him up; the stairs might not have been able to hold the weight of both of their bodies at once.

Will unlocked the door with the key given to him by the NOPD. The lock was sticky, and the door squeaked as it opened. The apartment was dim, small without feeling cramped, and devoid of furniture.

Hannibal wrinkled his nose as he closed the door, looking mildly affronted. "The cleaning crew could have done a better job. The place still smells of rot and bleach."

Will spared him a glance and a quiet huff of amusement. "Yeah? Just wait until we reach the bathroom."

Sure enough, the lingering stench was strongest in the bathroom. Will could already feel his headache intensifying, so he dry-swallowed some more aspirin before observing the room. Light filtered in through the bare window above the bathtub. He didn't know much about bathtubs or plumbing, but the tub itself had probably needed to be replaced after holding such a volatile mixture of sodium hydroxide and rotting, dissolving flesh. The walls and floor had been scrubbed vigorously. Still, it wasn't enough to erase what had happened there. The room smelled as though it needed to be aired out; the sharp sting of bleach assaulted his nostrils, and underneath it, something insidious lingered.

"She was killed here," Will said, standing by the tub with his hands shoved in his pockets. "The killer drowned her, then propped her up and added sodium hydroxide to the water — don't know how much he would've needed, but it's easy to get your hands on. It's lye," he added, glancing at Hannibal. "Used in drain cleaner."

Hannibal stood in the doorway, reluctant to step any closer to the offending odor. "He used a base instead of an acid. Interesting."

"Strong acids are harder to get without raising suspicion. But lye? Depending on his line of work, or even if he's just a handyman around the house, he could've had lye for ages before this murder. Wouldn't even have to go out and buy it."

"He's getting smarter about using his resources."

Will scratched his beard and said nothing. He could just imagine Jack's sharp response to Hannibal in his head: Evidently not smart enough. Jack would assume the killer had meant to dissolve the entire body, hence leaving part of it behind would be a mistake. But Will wasn't so sure. The killer had been purposeful up to this point; from the way he arranged the body, he must've meant for only half of it to dissolve. The question now was why.

He moved for the doorway, and Hannibal wisely moved out of his way.

It was time for him to pinpoint this killer's design.