FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) by Kassandra Lamb Page A
Authors: Kassandra Lamb
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they drew nearer, his gaze came up from the computer monitor in front of him and locked on her face. His eyes were so bloodshot there was very little white showing around the brown irises.
“I’ll catch up in a minute,” Kate said to Tim.
She walked over and put a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Have you gotten any rest?”
“How the hell can I rest–” He stopped, shook his head. “Sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay.” She pointed at the mug shots of older white males on the computer monitor. “Any luck?”
He shook his head again.
She squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll find her.” The statement might have been more reassuring if she hadn’t choked up some as she said it.
He stared up at her, his broad face sagging with fatigue. “I was going to ask her to marry me.” He looked away from her, across the nearly empty bullpen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to overshadow the surprise party, so I waited. Now she’ll never know.”
Kate dropped down beside his chair, the industrial-strength carpet rough under her knees. She grabbed one of his hands and held it between both of hers. “She knows, Charles, she knows. You’re one of the best things to ever happen to her. She waited a long…” Kate caught herself, deciding that was not the best place to go. “You were, are her Prince Charming.”
His expression darkened. “Then why can’t I save her? Or at least do something more than stare at this damn computer.” He thumped the heel of his other hand against the monitor, almost toppling it over. “I swear, Kate, if whoever took her hurts one hair on her head, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
She struggled back to her feet and put a hand on his shoulder again, patting it. “You may have lots of help.”
Tim was talking to the black plastic speaker box next to the telephone on the table when Kate entered the conference room. The equipment was a bit outdated, but she figured conference rooms probably were the last to get the newer technology.
“Thanks, Jane,” Tim said. “Dig a little further back, just to see if anything else interesting pops up.” He disconnected.
“She get something?”
“Yeah. May or may not be related though. Late January, 2002, in New Haven. A Yale coed was reported missing by her roommate. She was found two days later. Same kind of torture marks, but these were inflicted before death, as was the sexual assault. She was left where she was sure to be found, but not with her hands folded.”
“Naked or clothed?”
“Naked,” Tim said.
Kate nodded. “So some similarities but some differences as well. Might not be our guy.”
“Might not, but like I said, same kind of torture marks.”
“Some coincidence.”
“I’m not fond of coincidences.” He scratched his shirt-sleeved arm. “They give me hives.”
Kate gave him a small smile.
“So where does that put us?” Tim walked to a whiteboard on the side wall where he had written out the original profile earlier. The 20 to 40 had a black line marked through it, with 45 to 65 now written next to it.
“This guy’s been killing for a long time,” Kate said. “Maybe even before the 2002 student.”
“Probably. These bastards don’t start off with torture and murder. They work up to it.”
Kate could hear his teeth grinding from across the table. “You’re dating yourself, by the way, by calling her a coed,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood some.
He obliged with a weak smile. “How’s the boyfriend, Tolliver, holding up?”
It was strange to think of a sixty-year-old man as a boyfriend, but for lack of a better term. “Not well, I’m afraid.”
“I’m surprised Lieutenant Anderson cleared him so quickly.”
“Oh, I’m sure she had one of her people do a thorough background check on him. But she picked up on the similarities to the New Haven cases right away.”
“Still, Tolliver could have read about those cases
“I’ll catch up in a minute,” Kate said to Tim.
She walked over and put a hand on Charles’s shoulder. “Have you gotten any rest?”
“How the hell can I rest–” He stopped, shook his head. “Sorry, Kate, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay.” She pointed at the mug shots of older white males on the computer monitor. “Any luck?”
He shook his head again.
She squeezed his shoulder. “We’ll find her.” The statement might have been more reassuring if she hadn’t choked up some as she said it.
He stared up at her, his broad face sagging with fatigue. “I was going to ask her to marry me.” He looked away from her, across the nearly empty bullpen. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to overshadow the surprise party, so I waited. Now she’ll never know.”
Kate dropped down beside his chair, the industrial-strength carpet rough under her knees. She grabbed one of his hands and held it between both of hers. “She knows, Charles, she knows. You’re one of the best things to ever happen to her. She waited a long…” Kate caught herself, deciding that was not the best place to go. “You were, are her Prince Charming.”
His expression darkened. “Then why can’t I save her? Or at least do something more than stare at this damn computer.” He thumped the heel of his other hand against the monitor, almost toppling it over. “I swear, Kate, if whoever took her hurts one hair on her head, I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”
She struggled back to her feet and put a hand on his shoulder again, patting it. “You may have lots of help.”
Tim was talking to the black plastic speaker box next to the telephone on the table when Kate entered the conference room. The equipment was a bit outdated, but she figured conference rooms probably were the last to get the newer technology.
“Thanks, Jane,” Tim said. “Dig a little further back, just to see if anything else interesting pops up.” He disconnected.
“She get something?”
“Yeah. May or may not be related though. Late January, 2002, in New Haven. A Yale coed was reported missing by her roommate. She was found two days later. Same kind of torture marks, but these were inflicted before death, as was the sexual assault. She was left where she was sure to be found, but not with her hands folded.”
“Naked or clothed?”
“Naked,” Tim said.
Kate nodded. “So some similarities but some differences as well. Might not be our guy.”
“Might not, but like I said, same kind of torture marks.”
“Some coincidence.”
“I’m not fond of coincidences.” He scratched his shirt-sleeved arm. “They give me hives.”
Kate gave him a small smile.
“So where does that put us?” Tim walked to a whiteboard on the side wall where he had written out the original profile earlier. The 20 to 40 had a black line marked through it, with 45 to 65 now written next to it.
“This guy’s been killing for a long time,” Kate said. “Maybe even before the 2002 student.”
“Probably. These bastards don’t start off with torture and murder. They work up to it.”
Kate could hear his teeth grinding from across the table. “You’re dating yourself, by the way, by calling her a coed,” she teased, trying to lighten the mood some.
He obliged with a weak smile. “How’s the boyfriend, Tolliver, holding up?”
It was strange to think of a sixty-year-old man as a boyfriend, but for lack of a better term. “Not well, I’m afraid.”
“I’m surprised Lieutenant Anderson cleared him so quickly.”
“Oh, I’m sure she had one of her people do a thorough background check on him. But she picked up on the similarities to the New Haven cases right away.”
“Still, Tolliver could have read about those cases
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