saying a word.
She glanced at Stone's notes. "What are you working on?"
"The cheerleader angle. Why does he dress them in the old-time uniforms? Based on the amount of blood, the women are wearing them when they're murdered. And by the way, forensics confirmed that the slasher is a lefty, determined by the direction of the slash marks."
"Sure." Nate sat a couple chairs down, where he had the best view of the bulletin board. "You could see that from the photos."
Stone nodded. "Obvious, right?" He tossed Mel a glance but she didn't look at him, and didn't say a word.
Nate watched the exchange but didn't understand, and didn't figure he'd better try. "Mel just said she wanted to work on the cheerleader angle today. You two really are in sync."
"We are." Stone nodded, grinning.
Mel rolled her eyes. "Or, we could have talked about it on the phone this morning. But if you want to go with the 'in sync' thing, that's cool." She glanced up when Samantha Becker entered the room. "Hey Sam. Thanks for coming in."
"Good morning everyone." The detective sounded just as chipper as ever, and looked even perkier than the day before wearing a pink blouse, jeans, and pink pony-tail holder. "It's a beautiful day out there."
Nate's head had been feeling better, but the sound of her cheery, almost squeaky voice caused a dull ache to return to the base of his neck.
"Morning Agent Willis." Becker sat next to him, but not too close. She seemed ready to work like the others, and Nate thought that was a very good thing.
"Hey." He didn't dare say too much, even small talk might make it seem that he wanted to carry on a conversation with her.
"So where are we at?" Becker glanced around the room.
Mel tapped her pencil on the table. "Why cheerleader uniforms? Why fifty-year old women? We have some questions to answer."
Nate studied the victims' photos as he spoke. "Our guy could have been spurned by a cheerleader in high school. Maybe he's paying them back for the way they treated him."
Stone piped up. "The uniforms are from the seventies. A woman in her fifties would have been in high school at that time. Does that make our perpetrator also that age?"
Becker scribbled on her notepad. "If he was spurned by these particular women it does."
Mel shook her head. "It's doubtful he went to school with these specific women. Two of them didn't grow up in Wichita and Donna Leonard didn't even graduate from high school."
Nate nodded. "She was bipolar. They probably didn't know what that meant in those days. She would have had trouble in school."
"Besides," Mel screwed up her face. "I can't see our guy being in his fifties. None of the women were murdered where they were found, so he's had to kill then move them. They've all been slender, but still we're talking about this guy lifting a hundred pounds of dead weight, pardon the pun."
Nate couldn't resist. "Are you suggesting a fifty-year old man wouldn't be up to that task? Pardon me while I go get fitted for my truss."
She chuckled. "You are nowhere near fifty. You're nowhere near forty, are you?"
He waved her off. "I'll never tell. But seriously, I was just giving you the business. I agree with you. Statistically, the perp in cases like these is generally in the twenty-five to forty age range. Which gives us another angle to consider. We could be looking at a guy who had some issues with his mother."
"His mother?" Stone blinked a couple times and looked at the photos. "Who would do such a thing to his mother?"
"Probably not a good little Asian boy." Nate waved his pencil in the air. " Which allows us to add 'most likely Caucasian' to our profile. "
They all studied the photos in silence. Nate's comment about the perp having issues with his mother had obviously thrown them for a loop, and they were taking time to digest it.
"Interesting theory." Mel nodded. "But at this point it's just that—a theory. I think we have to keep all our options open."
"Of course we do," Nate agreed. But just
She glanced at Stone's notes. "What are you working on?"
"The cheerleader angle. Why does he dress them in the old-time uniforms? Based on the amount of blood, the women are wearing them when they're murdered. And by the way, forensics confirmed that the slasher is a lefty, determined by the direction of the slash marks."
"Sure." Nate sat a couple chairs down, where he had the best view of the bulletin board. "You could see that from the photos."
Stone nodded. "Obvious, right?" He tossed Mel a glance but she didn't look at him, and didn't say a word.
Nate watched the exchange but didn't understand, and didn't figure he'd better try. "Mel just said she wanted to work on the cheerleader angle today. You two really are in sync."
"We are." Stone nodded, grinning.
Mel rolled her eyes. "Or, we could have talked about it on the phone this morning. But if you want to go with the 'in sync' thing, that's cool." She glanced up when Samantha Becker entered the room. "Hey Sam. Thanks for coming in."
"Good morning everyone." The detective sounded just as chipper as ever, and looked even perkier than the day before wearing a pink blouse, jeans, and pink pony-tail holder. "It's a beautiful day out there."
Nate's head had been feeling better, but the sound of her cheery, almost squeaky voice caused a dull ache to return to the base of his neck.
"Morning Agent Willis." Becker sat next to him, but not too close. She seemed ready to work like the others, and Nate thought that was a very good thing.
"Hey." He didn't dare say too much, even small talk might make it seem that he wanted to carry on a conversation with her.
"So where are we at?" Becker glanced around the room.
Mel tapped her pencil on the table. "Why cheerleader uniforms? Why fifty-year old women? We have some questions to answer."
Nate studied the victims' photos as he spoke. "Our guy could have been spurned by a cheerleader in high school. Maybe he's paying them back for the way they treated him."
Stone piped up. "The uniforms are from the seventies. A woman in her fifties would have been in high school at that time. Does that make our perpetrator also that age?"
Becker scribbled on her notepad. "If he was spurned by these particular women it does."
Mel shook her head. "It's doubtful he went to school with these specific women. Two of them didn't grow up in Wichita and Donna Leonard didn't even graduate from high school."
Nate nodded. "She was bipolar. They probably didn't know what that meant in those days. She would have had trouble in school."
"Besides," Mel screwed up her face. "I can't see our guy being in his fifties. None of the women were murdered where they were found, so he's had to kill then move them. They've all been slender, but still we're talking about this guy lifting a hundred pounds of dead weight, pardon the pun."
Nate couldn't resist. "Are you suggesting a fifty-year old man wouldn't be up to that task? Pardon me while I go get fitted for my truss."
She chuckled. "You are nowhere near fifty. You're nowhere near forty, are you?"
He waved her off. "I'll never tell. But seriously, I was just giving you the business. I agree with you. Statistically, the perp in cases like these is generally in the twenty-five to forty age range. Which gives us another angle to consider. We could be looking at a guy who had some issues with his mother."
"His mother?" Stone blinked a couple times and looked at the photos. "Who would do such a thing to his mother?"
"Probably not a good little Asian boy." Nate waved his pencil in the air. " Which allows us to add 'most likely Caucasian' to our profile. "
They all studied the photos in silence. Nate's comment about the perp having issues with his mother had obviously thrown them for a loop, and they were taking time to digest it.
"Interesting theory." Mel nodded. "But at this point it's just that—a theory. I think we have to keep all our options open."
"Of course we do," Nate agreed. But just
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