visitor made a comment she’d remember about the lock.”
Tony, by now trailing an aromatic cloud of smoke, spoke up. “How long ago did she have the newer windows put in?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know—maybe a year. I’ll ask her for the name of whoever installed them.”
We arrived at the top of the stairs, where J.P. stopped us at the threshold, looking directly at Tony. “I want to preserve this room at least another twenty-four hours—even put a guard on it so we can guarantee its legal integrity, if you’ll let me.”
Brandt nodded. “I think we can do that—sure.” He removed his pipe and cradled it protectively in his palm.
Satisfied, Tyler turned to the room like a lecturer to his blackboard. “I’ll have to compare my notes with Gail’s statement to nail down the sequence of some of this—I can’t tell if he trashed the place first and then raped her, or vice versa—but I have a pretty good idea of how he moved around the room.”
He took a couple of steps forward, being careful not to disturb anything. “In a way, it’s like an archaeological dig—you know that, generally speaking, whatever’s at the bottom was put there first. So all I had to do was link various articles on the floor—and how they were layered—to similar items still left in the drawers and the closet. That way, I could roughly trace his progress around the room, figuring out which drawers he’d emptied first and last.”
“Which told you what?” Tony asked.
Tyler pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Here’s the crime-scene sketch I did of the room. I left out a lot of the clutter to clarify what was where, but you can see the guy’s progression—very methodical. He toured the room in a clockwise direction, Wiping out things as he went.”
“Telling you he’s repressed, compulsive, and angry as hell?”
Tyler looked at me and tilted the flat of his hand back and forth in an equivocal gesture. “Maybe; I don’t have the psychology training to take this too far. The best I can do is establish a pattern—something we might find in somebody else’s files.”
Brandt coughed gently and cleared his throat. “Yeah—not ours. This doesn’t ring any bells with you, does it, Joe?”
I shook my head. “I’ve already circulated the basics to surrounding departments. J.P., if you could translate what you just told us into something for them to check against—and send it out in a second bulletin—it might help. Then we can cross our fingers this bastard didn’t come from California.”
I looked at the rope nooses still hanging from the bed frame and felt the familiar twinge in the pit of my stomach. “What else was left behind?”
The contented gleam burned brighter in Tyler’s eyes. “A few things, actually, some of which won’t be his—like your fingerprints, hair, and—” He suddenly stopped, realizing his blunder.
I got him off the hook. “Semen.”
His face, for the first time to my knowledge, flushed bright red. “Right. Anyway, barring those, I still think we have a couple of hair samples, the tool marks, the vegetable matter I found downstairs. And this… ” He pulled a white envelope out of his jacket pocket and held it open to the light.
“What is it?” Tony asked.
“Looks like a fiber,” I answered, squinting at a tiny comma of red material suspended in the middle of the envelope like a microscopic goldfish in a bowl. “Where’d you find it?”
“Right here.” J.P. pointed to the door frame opening onto the bathroom, catty-corner to the door in which we were all standing. There was a thin sliver protruding from the rough, natural-wood frame, about half a foot up from the floor.
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Gail said he was naked when he attacked her, but that she could hear him putting his clothes on afterwards by the door—right here.”
“You or she have any red-wool shirts?” J.P. asked.
I scratched my head. “Sure. Christ,
Tony, by now trailing an aromatic cloud of smoke, spoke up. “How long ago did she have the newer windows put in?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know—maybe a year. I’ll ask her for the name of whoever installed them.”
We arrived at the top of the stairs, where J.P. stopped us at the threshold, looking directly at Tony. “I want to preserve this room at least another twenty-four hours—even put a guard on it so we can guarantee its legal integrity, if you’ll let me.”
Brandt nodded. “I think we can do that—sure.” He removed his pipe and cradled it protectively in his palm.
Satisfied, Tyler turned to the room like a lecturer to his blackboard. “I’ll have to compare my notes with Gail’s statement to nail down the sequence of some of this—I can’t tell if he trashed the place first and then raped her, or vice versa—but I have a pretty good idea of how he moved around the room.”
He took a couple of steps forward, being careful not to disturb anything. “In a way, it’s like an archaeological dig—you know that, generally speaking, whatever’s at the bottom was put there first. So all I had to do was link various articles on the floor—and how they were layered—to similar items still left in the drawers and the closet. That way, I could roughly trace his progress around the room, figuring out which drawers he’d emptied first and last.”
“Which told you what?” Tony asked.
Tyler pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket. “Here’s the crime-scene sketch I did of the room. I left out a lot of the clutter to clarify what was where, but you can see the guy’s progression—very methodical. He toured the room in a clockwise direction, Wiping out things as he went.”
“Telling you he’s repressed, compulsive, and angry as hell?”
Tyler looked at me and tilted the flat of his hand back and forth in an equivocal gesture. “Maybe; I don’t have the psychology training to take this too far. The best I can do is establish a pattern—something we might find in somebody else’s files.”
Brandt coughed gently and cleared his throat. “Yeah—not ours. This doesn’t ring any bells with you, does it, Joe?”
I shook my head. “I’ve already circulated the basics to surrounding departments. J.P., if you could translate what you just told us into something for them to check against—and send it out in a second bulletin—it might help. Then we can cross our fingers this bastard didn’t come from California.”
I looked at the rope nooses still hanging from the bed frame and felt the familiar twinge in the pit of my stomach. “What else was left behind?”
The contented gleam burned brighter in Tyler’s eyes. “A few things, actually, some of which won’t be his—like your fingerprints, hair, and—” He suddenly stopped, realizing his blunder.
I got him off the hook. “Semen.”
His face, for the first time to my knowledge, flushed bright red. “Right. Anyway, barring those, I still think we have a couple of hair samples, the tool marks, the vegetable matter I found downstairs. And this… ” He pulled a white envelope out of his jacket pocket and held it open to the light.
“What is it?” Tony asked.
“Looks like a fiber,” I answered, squinting at a tiny comma of red material suspended in the middle of the envelope like a microscopic goldfish in a bowl. “Where’d you find it?”
“Right here.” J.P. pointed to the door frame opening onto the bathroom, catty-corner to the door in which we were all standing. There was a thin sliver protruding from the rough, natural-wood frame, about half a foot up from the floor.
“I’ll be damned,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Gail said he was naked when he attacked her, but that she could hear him putting his clothes on afterwards by the door—right here.”
“You or she have any red-wool shirts?” J.P. asked.
I scratched my head. “Sure. Christ,
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