FATAL FORTY-EIGHT: A Kate Huntington Mystery (The Kate Huntington Mysteries Book 7) by Kassandra Lamb Page B
Authors: Kassandra Lamb
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and faked the set-up to make Ms. Ford’s disappearance look like the same guy.”
Kate finger-brushed dark curls back from her face. “Judith said the purse on the chair, that was a detail that had been held back from the press.” She blew out air. “I don’t know Charles well, but I’m pretty good at picking up on whether someone is lying, or putting on an act. His grief seems totally genuine.”
And heartbreaking.
Tim walked back to the table. He picked up his tablet and tapped its screen. “No remorse in the posing this time.”
Kate’s mind had no trouble following him back to the 2002 case. From his tight lips and the deep crease down his forehead she deduced that he was now staring at crime scene photos. “May I see?” She held out her hand.
“They’re pretty gruesome.”
“I’ve been a trauma specialist for over twenty years, Tim. I don’t shock easy.”
Nonetheless she sucked in her breath when she looked at the screen. The woman’s youthful skin was covered with oozing cuts and blackened round marks, cigarette burns no doubt. Only her face was unblemished. She seemed almost peaceful.
“Does the expression one is wearing at death stay on the face afterwards?”
“No,” Tim said. “The muscles go slack.”
Still, the peaceful face had planted a seed. “Back to the thought that this guy may be re-enacting abuse that was inflicted on him as a child. Maybe he worked up to this,” she pointed to the tablet, “with a few rapes, maybe a little bit of torture. But when he went all the way like this, he found it disturbing. Maybe he switched from angry re-enactment to feeling empathy for the victim.”
Tim nodded. “Not enough to quell the urge to kidnap and kill–”
“And to see if anybody cared about these people.”
“But enough empathy to not want to inflict too much pain, so he kills first, then re-enacts the torture.”
“And poses the next round of victims,” Kate said, “in a way that shows remorse.”
“There was no semen, by the way, in the 2002 case. Just vaginal tearing to indicate the assault.”
“So either he wore a condom or he wasn’t able to ejaculate. Another sign of remorse perhaps? But there was semen in the later cases.”
“Injected postmortem.”
Kate was staring at the pathetic mess that had once been a vibrant young woman. “So the asshole is able to jerk off once he has killed.” She caught herself grinding her teeth.
Handing the tablet back, she asked, “Does this young woman have a name?”
“Yeah, Caroline Delaney. The roommate called her Carrie. She was an only child.”
“Oh, my,” Kate whispered, her heart aching for the parents. She caught herself midway through crossing herself. She finished the gesture and added a silent prayer that they had found some peace in the intervening years.
Tim sat down beside her and put a hand on her arm. Warmth spread up it, easing the tightness in her chest.
She patted the hand with her own, then withdrew her arm. Twisting around in her chair, she looked at the profile on the whiteboard. “So we’ve got a chronically abused child. The parent or parents are careful not to mar his face, which would cause others to ask questions.”
Tim flipped his finger over the tablet screen several times. “No marks on Carrie’s hands either. Just rope burns on her wrists.”
Kate nodded. “So he tortured some animals the way he’d been tortured. Maybe raped a few girls. Do you think he murdered before Carrie?”
Tim picked up the receiver on the phone and punched in a number. “I’ll have Jane check for sexual assault and/or murder cases, without torture, ten years back from then, in and around New Haven.”
~~~~~~~~
Sally stood in the bathroom and surveyed the tiny space. She wouldn’t let herself give up. She had to keep looking for a way to get help, or to escape, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed. It was her version of dying with her boots on. She’d be damned if she’d go out a
Kate finger-brushed dark curls back from her face. “Judith said the purse on the chair, that was a detail that had been held back from the press.” She blew out air. “I don’t know Charles well, but I’m pretty good at picking up on whether someone is lying, or putting on an act. His grief seems totally genuine.”
And heartbreaking.
Tim walked back to the table. He picked up his tablet and tapped its screen. “No remorse in the posing this time.”
Kate’s mind had no trouble following him back to the 2002 case. From his tight lips and the deep crease down his forehead she deduced that he was now staring at crime scene photos. “May I see?” She held out her hand.
“They’re pretty gruesome.”
“I’ve been a trauma specialist for over twenty years, Tim. I don’t shock easy.”
Nonetheless she sucked in her breath when she looked at the screen. The woman’s youthful skin was covered with oozing cuts and blackened round marks, cigarette burns no doubt. Only her face was unblemished. She seemed almost peaceful.
“Does the expression one is wearing at death stay on the face afterwards?”
“No,” Tim said. “The muscles go slack.”
Still, the peaceful face had planted a seed. “Back to the thought that this guy may be re-enacting abuse that was inflicted on him as a child. Maybe he worked up to this,” she pointed to the tablet, “with a few rapes, maybe a little bit of torture. But when he went all the way like this, he found it disturbing. Maybe he switched from angry re-enactment to feeling empathy for the victim.”
Tim nodded. “Not enough to quell the urge to kidnap and kill–”
“And to see if anybody cared about these people.”
“But enough empathy to not want to inflict too much pain, so he kills first, then re-enacts the torture.”
“And poses the next round of victims,” Kate said, “in a way that shows remorse.”
“There was no semen, by the way, in the 2002 case. Just vaginal tearing to indicate the assault.”
“So either he wore a condom or he wasn’t able to ejaculate. Another sign of remorse perhaps? But there was semen in the later cases.”
“Injected postmortem.”
Kate was staring at the pathetic mess that had once been a vibrant young woman. “So the asshole is able to jerk off once he has killed.” She caught herself grinding her teeth.
Handing the tablet back, she asked, “Does this young woman have a name?”
“Yeah, Caroline Delaney. The roommate called her Carrie. She was an only child.”
“Oh, my,” Kate whispered, her heart aching for the parents. She caught herself midway through crossing herself. She finished the gesture and added a silent prayer that they had found some peace in the intervening years.
Tim sat down beside her and put a hand on her arm. Warmth spread up it, easing the tightness in her chest.
She patted the hand with her own, then withdrew her arm. Twisting around in her chair, she looked at the profile on the whiteboard. “So we’ve got a chronically abused child. The parent or parents are careful not to mar his face, which would cause others to ask questions.”
Tim flipped his finger over the tablet screen several times. “No marks on Carrie’s hands either. Just rope burns on her wrists.”
Kate nodded. “So he tortured some animals the way he’d been tortured. Maybe raped a few girls. Do you think he murdered before Carrie?”
Tim picked up the receiver on the phone and punched in a number. “I’ll have Jane check for sexual assault and/or murder cases, without torture, ten years back from then, in and around New Haven.”
~~~~~~~~
Sally stood in the bathroom and surveyed the tiny space. She wouldn’t let herself give up. She had to keep looking for a way to get help, or to escape, no matter how hopeless the situation seemed. It was her version of dying with her boots on. She’d be damned if she’d go out a
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